


Sanguine Flames

by AbyssWalk3r



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers, Mix Between Crimson Flower and Silver Snows, Multi, spoilers for both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2020-09-29 21:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 29
Words: 163,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20442920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbyssWalk3r/pseuds/AbyssWalk3r
Summary: Byleth hears another voice coming from the ancient weapon that has chosen him to be its master, and the only problem he has with it is: that voice isn't the little goddess that's taken up residence in his head. With this ancient newcomer accompanied by dreams of the distant past, Byleth makes his way forward as life around the Garreg Mach Monastery becomes embroiled in the rising darkness threatening to engulf all of Fodlan. Little does he know just what this new path will have in store for him...





	1. White Clouds

He dreamed of war yet again: vast armies clashing on a muddied field as dark twilight skies bore witness to an aerial clash between scores of dark wyverns and pale pegasi. Steel glittered in a thousand earth-bound stars while men and women alike heaved against one another in bloody, brutal violence, blood turning soil and stone red. 

Then came the burning meteor that slammed into a vanguard of mounted knights, erupting in a firestorm that engulfed all unlucky enough to be around it. The screams were maddening, man and beast alike being consumed by bright, blazing death. Then a great figure slammed into the apex of the firestorm, pulling a weapon from the earth as the flames died out. Yellow eyes burned as the titan rose, cape billowing behind him and chains rattling from his waist as scarred arms bulging with muscles lifted his sword towards the army surrounding him. 

Then the violence, the screams and the ringing of steel on steel came to a halt as the titan’s eyes found those of the one watching, his scarred face hard and ruthless as a cold grin formed on his cracked lips. The world was still, frozen in time, soldiers on both sides paused in the midst of violence and destruction. 

“You want answers, don’t you, boy?” his voice was deep and ancient, grating and rough yet filled with the air of a king, commanding attention. “The truth? Open your heart to me.” 

“Wake up!” a familiar girl’s voice jolted Byleth from the dream, replacing the blood-soaked battlefield with the small square room that Byleth called home in Garreg Mach. 

Byleth sat up, blinking slowly to clear his blurry vision as he peeled his cheek off of the sweat-stained pillow. Sothis was hovering just to the side, her youthful face screwed into a concerned expression as her brilliant green gaze bore into the man whose mind she resided within. 

“What was that dream?” she asked, her voice unusually somber. “I feel as if I know that man... or if I’ve seen him before.” 

Byleth shook his head as his vision finally cleared, stretching to awaken his stiff muscles as he pushed the lush covers off his chest and swung his legs out. Bare feet hit the pale rug taking up much of the floor, the scratchy fabric rubbing against his flesh as he put his weight on his legs and stood. 

He took a moment to examine the room once again, his gaze falling on the desk and cabinets laden with books and paperwork, filling the air with the scent of ink and musty leather. 

“Was he actually talking to you?” Sothis continued musing, resting a delicate hand against a porcelain cheek. “I’ve seen that dream before, but not like that...” 

“I don’t know,” Byleth shook his head, glancing out the lone window at the dark skies. “It isn’t daylight yet.” 

He brushed a lock of dark hair out of his sight, frowning at the pile of papers he’d have to distribute back to his students come morning time. Their assignment had been to compile an essay of mixed unit tactics when faced with certain entrenched enemies in unfamiliar territory, and the results had been varied to say the least. Let none say that the Black Eagles were a boring class... 

Edelgard had, of course, presented a near-perfect solution to the problem by thoroughly compiling a strategy combining scouts and sappers alongside the other available units. Hubert had suggested a diversion combined with shadow tactics, although not nearly as intricate as his liege’s, but it was enough to make him pass. Bernadetta and Petra relied on archers and bombarding from a distance, although the latter kept putting an emphasis on hunting and flushing out her prey. 

It was passable, he supposed. 

Caspar was a disappointment: he’d just thrown everything forward while Linhardt... well, Linhardt was better off not being mentioned. At least Ferdinand had gotten some point across through his flowery attempt at one-upping Edelgard. Dorothea had been quite devious in her idea in having soldiers disguise themselves as civilians and hail the enemy from a distance, begging for succor as a distraction while the main force went forward. It was impressive, to say the least. 

“Who was that man... and why do I feel such dread when I consider him?” Sothis kept talking to herself, the heavy feeling now filling Byleth’s own chest as he pictured the gaunt, battle-scarred face of that titanic warrior king. 

“Maybe it was Nemesis?” Byleth asked, glancing over at the weapon leaning up against a nearby bookcase. “He was using the Sword of the Creator, and I believe I heard Seiros calling him that in one of the earlier dreams.” 

The pale, ancient blade seemed to call to him, silently willing him to carry it into battle once more. It had only been two months since he’d retrieved the weapon from the Holy Mausoleum, yet he’d already mastered the use of it. It was all just an instinct at this point. 

Earlier, in Conan Tower, fighting against that massive Black Beast that had once been Miklan had been hardly a challenge with the Sword of the Creator slicing through his armored hide as if it was nothing. Even the Death Knight had been unable to stand against the legendary Relic: The Reaper had been brought down with ease before that mysterious Flame Emperor had appeared and ordered a retreat. 

“Nemesis... the King of Liberation,” Sothis hummed, shaking her head. “I feel as if there is more about him that Rhea and the others have yet to tell us about. If only my memories weren’t so muddled!” 

She kept griping in the background as Byleth went about peeling off his sweat-stained nightclothes and replacing them with his mercenary armor. He smoothed the black fabric and metal as the familiar weight once again settled upon his body. 

“At least have the presence of mind to warn me when you’re going to undress like that!” Sothis snapped, Byleth turning to see the girl scowling at him. “It’s common decency!” 

A smile tugged at his lips. “Sorry.” 

She huffed and folded her arms, shaking her head and sending waves through her long green hair. Byleth reached out to the Sword of the Creator and wrapped his fingers around the cracked, ancient hilt, the strange material warming at his touch. 

“I feel you,” the ancient voice from his dreams rumbled in his mind, making Byleth and Sothis freeze. 

“W-what was that?” the girl squeaked. “That voice?!” 

The sword glowed red, emanating ancient power as Byleth lifted it up to examine it. He’d heard whispers of that voice before, but he’d thought it had simply been his imagination given that Sothis had never reacted. Until now. 

“You heard it too?” he asked the ghost. 

“Of course I did!” she declared, her expression going unusually somber. “Have you heard it before?” 

“I have, when fighting the Black Beast and when we found Monica and Flayn a few days ago,” Byleth nodded, hooking the now dim sword to his waist. 

“What did it say?” Sothis hovered closer, her presence mere inches away from him as she cocked her head in curiosity. 

“It said ‘insolent child’ when Miklan transformed and ‘You aren’t fooling me’ when we found Flayn,” Byleth answered, holding a hand to his chin as he pondered. “I thought I was just imagining it.” 

“How curious,” Sothis frowned. “But what does it mean?” 

Byleth shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t have any more answers than Caspar does for this assignment.” 

He looked despairingly at the essay in question, at the sea of corrections and suggestions he’d inked upon its surface. Hopefully the boy wouldn’t take it too hard, especially since he’d put so much effort into the paper. He had a good heart, just not a very good brain. 

If Byleth was being honest, he could see Caspar going quite far in life once he graduated. The boy had heart. 

He gathered up the papers, shifted the sword buckled to his waist, and gathered himself for another day of being Professor. 

“So, what is the Academy’s favorite professor lecturing about today?” Sothis stifled a yawn as she floated lazily at Byleth’s side, her eyelids already drooping shut. 

“Siege warfare,” he answered, stepping out of his room and into the brisk early morning air. 

Byleth shut the door behind him and made his way down the stairs right in front of the room, taking a moment to look at the dew-slickened grass, bushes, and flowers growing around the paved path. 

“Morning, Professor!” Catherine was standing outside the training hall, Thunderbrand ever at her waist and a beaming smile on her lips. “Looks like it’s going to be a good day for training!” 

“Hey, Catherine,” Byleth raised a hand in greeting, pausing as he heard footsteps approaching. 

“Hey, Professor! Catherine!” Monica walked towards them, her face set into that too friendly smile as she waved. 

“Monica,” Byleth froze as the Sword of the Creator pulsed a warning on his waist, the power of the ancient weapon flooding him with the desire to fight. “Are you going to come to class today?” 

The young girl shook her head, pouting as she did so. “I’m not caught up on what you’re teaching, Professor. I’m afraid I still have a lot of studying if I’m to even be able to re-enter your lectures.” 

Byleth fought the sword’s desire to lop her head from her shoulders as he nodded back to her, wondering yet again why the Relic was so jumpy around her. “Just take your time, okay? It couldn’t have been easy getting back into your studies after what happened. Do what you can.” 

The girl nodded, that forced smile almost too radiant to be normal. “Aw, thank you, Professor! You’re the best! I’ll do my best to catch up!” 

She practically skipped off, Byleth releasing the pent-up tension with a slightly heavier exhale before turning back to a stiff-backed Catherine. “Catherine? Is something wrong?” 

“Does your Relic act strangely around her, too?” the normally cheerful swordmaster was tightly wound and ready to fight, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her Relic. “I almost cut her head off with Thunderbrand when it reacted to her the first time I met her.” 

Byleth nodded. “The Sword of the Creator is the same way. Every time Monica’s around, it fills me with power the way it would if I was on the battlefield and if she was an enemy.” 

“So, it’s not just me,” Catherine sighed, shaking her head as she raised her hands in exasperation. “I don’t know if it’s what those bastards did to her when they had her or what, but constantly being on edge whenever that girl’s around is driving me crazy.” 

“I wish I could help,” Byleth was almost relieved when the Relic on his waist finally relaxed. 

Catherine laughed. “I appreciate the thought, but I’ll just work it out by training! Have a good day, Professor!” 

“You too, Catherine,” Byleth made his way past the ramparts lining the training hall towards the Officer’s Academy, surprised to hear voices coming from the Black Eagle classroom. 

He turned the corner and found the classroom doors open with his students all gathered within, their voices hushed as they conversed. Except for Linhardt, who was fast asleep on his desk and Bernadetta, who was covering her head with a book at her own desk. 

“You’re here early,” Byleth didn’t want to eavesdrop, his students jolting as they turned back to face him. 

“Ah, Professor!” Edelgard smiled warmly as she greeted him, followed by a stiff bow. “I had asked everyone to come here so we might discuss the essay topic further before you handed them back to us.” 

“I think she was merely afraid I would outperform her and wished to pick my brain for my brilliant ideas!” Ferdinand laughed, shaking his head. 

“You can dream, I suppose,” Hubert muttered, he and Edelgard sharing a quick, indiscernible glance. “I have the utmost faith that Lady Edelgard performed far above you.” 

Well, he wasn’t exactly wrong. 

“My teacher, have you seen Monica?” Edelgard asked, stepping closer as those piercing eyes of hers bore into him. “I’ve been trying to encourage her to attend a lecture just to see how she feels, but she keeps refusing.” 

“I just ran into her outside,” Byleth made his way to his desk, discretely studying his students’ faces as he set the pile of graded essays down. “I told her to take as much time as she needed to study on her own until she felt ready to attend classes again.” 

Edelgard’s expression softened, although there was something in her eyes he couldn’t yet read. “Very kind of you, my teacher. I’ve been looking out for her ever since you rescued her, and I was concerned that she was pushing herself too hard in an attempt to catch up.” 

“Thank you for keeping an eye on her,” Byleth nodded: the two had become nearly inseparable ever since Monica had recovered. “Well, since we’re already here, I suppose I’ll pass out your essays.” 

Bernadetta let out a little whine of despair and cowered further under her book, the action tugging a bit at whatever it was that was in Byleth’s chest. 

“Bernadetta and Petra, I was very impressed with your ideas,” he began, holding up their papers. “Well done, both of you.” 

The princess of Brigid beamed as she took the paper, bowing to Byleth. “You are having my thanks, Professor! I am pleasing- er, pleased, that you thought so highly of my work!” 

“R-really? You were impressed with me?” Bernie was next, her fear-fueled expression replaced by relief as she took her own. “Thank you so much, Professor!” 

“Caspar, you had really good ideas, but I’m afraid they wouldn’t work well in this sort of scenario,” Byleth lifted the paper in question. “If you’d like some help with this subject, I’d be glad to help you find some books or tutor you on it.” 

“Aw, man...” Caspar sulked as he took in the writing on the paper. “I’ll just have to try even harder!” 

“Linhardt, did you even try to stay on the subject?” Byleth glanced at the paper in his hand, then sighed as he looked at the sleeping noble. “Will someone...?” 

Dorothea smacked the back of Linhardt’s head, making the boy jolt upright with a pained yelp. 

“Ow! Was that really necessary?” he complained, rubbing his newest injury. 

“Thank you, Dorothea,” he held her paper up. “I was impressed by your use of disguises to distract the enemy, although I’m not sure whether or not they’d buy it. Good work, regardless.” 

The songstress smiled brightly, a more genuine smile than the fake ones she gave her many dates, and took the paper. “Thank you, Professor! It’s all thanks to you!” 

He nodded back to her and turned to Hubert and Ferdinand. “You two did pretty well, although, Ferdinand, I’m not entirely certain how well the situation would be handled by nobly throwing yourself on the front lines. Seems like suicide, to me.” 

Ferdinand groaned and looked at the paper. “But... but it’s my duty as a noble to...” 

Hubert gave a low, menacing laugh at the noble’s expense, not seeming too interested in his own paper as his attention honed onto the last essay resting on the desk. 

“And, Edelgard, I have to say your paper was quite impressive,” Byleth didn’t play favorites, but Edelgard was the brightest student he had the pleasure of teaching. “I can safely say that your proposal would have easily driven the enemy from their fortifications if we ever end up in this scenario.” 

The Imperial heir nodded as she took the paper, an embarrassed smile curving her lips. “I... thank you, my teacher. I am flattered that you think so highly of me.” 

“Just saying the truth,” he shrugged. “A good mercenary needs to know just what could lead to success on the battlefield, especially against a foe like this.” 

“I’ll need to work even harder...Professor!” Ferdinand jumped up, his eyes bright with defiance. “I demand that you tutor me as often as you do Edlegard! No, twice as much!” 

Byleth sighed. “Those tutoring sessions are booked ahead of time, Ferdinand, and my schedule is already full. If you wanted to be tutored, you should have asked me earlier, when I told everyone about them.” 

The young noble deflated, earning another sinister chuckle from Hubert. 

“Take your seats, and we’ll begin,” Byleth ordered, the young men and women he was training as soldiers and officers hurriedly obeying. “This week’s topic is going to be on siege warfare.” 

He did his best to block out the sound of Sothis’s snoring from where she hovered behind him as he started the lecture, pausing once to smack Linhardt’s desk with a ruler when the boy dozed off for the third time. By the time the lunch bell rang, Byleth was almost relieved to stop talking. He wasn’t an expert on siege warfare, knowing only what was in the books he’d crammed into his head the few days before, but it seemed he’d covered the subject well enough. 

“My teacher?” Edelgard remained behind, Hubert retaining a respectful distance at the entrance of the classroom. “Might I ask you something?” 

“Of course,” Byleth set down the book he’d been looking over. “Is Ferdinand challenging you to another duel? Do I need to ask Shamir or Catherine to beat the tar out of him in training again?” 

Edelgard raised an eyebrow. “That was you? I thought you only did that to Sylvain?” 

“Or Lorenz, if I hear that he’s also harassing girls,” Byleth shrugged. “The knights seem to enjoy beating them up.” 

Hubert snorted from the entrance, the closest Byleth had ever heard him be to howling with laughter. “Well done, Professor.” 

Edelgard stifled a laugh of her own and hardened her composure into the serious Imperial heiress she had to be. “Well, Professor, I have to ask: do you think we are ready for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion?” 

“I do,” he nodded to his student, noting how satisfied she was with his answer. “You’re all thrashing every single bandit contract I get from my father’s sources, even the ones that have been terrorizing entire villages for years. The monsters aren’t even real threats, either. I’m proud of how far you’ve all come.” 

“We have you to thank for that, my teacher,” Edelgard smiled. “Your guidance has been nothing short of spectacular. I must admit that I had my doubts at first, but you have more than put them to rest.” 

“Thank you, Edelgard,” his chest warmed with pride, one of the few moments in which he was actually feeling something. “You have all been working hard, so do not forget to give yourselves credit as well.” 

She smiled. “Thank you, my teacher. I just had to ask what you thought, given that you have more experience on the battlefield than all of us combined.” 

And now he had to teach Flayn how to stand on her own two feet on the battlefield. Speaking of Flayn...where the hells was she? Did she not remember that she was part of his class now? 

“I hope I’m not late, Professor!” said the green-haired girl who came bursting into the classroom, panting as she clutched a freshly caught, dripping fish to her chest. 

“Why are you carrying a fish?” Byleth raised an eyebrow at the sight, although it wasn’t entirely unusual, given her obsession with the creatures. 

“You didn’t hear?” Hubert asked, his thin lips curved into a scowl. “Seteth has declared there to be a fishing tournament this month for Flayn, to catch the fish she wants.” 

“Why am I always the last to hear about this kind of stuff?” Byleth frowned, again raising an eyebrow at the growing stain the wet fish was leaving on Flayn’s odd dress. “Flayn, is that fish still alive?” 

It wriggled in response. 

“Yes.” 

Even Edelgard mirrored her professor’s expression at that. “And your first thought was to bring it to class with you? While everyone was off for lunch?” 

Flayn hugged the fish tighter. “I have not been to this sort of institution in a long time! I do not remember everything regarding the scheduling of such a place!” 

There it was again: Flayn stating that she was apparently much, much older than she appeared. How many times did that make, now? 

Was it Byleth’s imagination, or did Edelgard’s face harden with rage just for a brief moment before the cool mask returned? 

“Even though you live here?” Byleth asked, if only to distract himself from his student’s odd expression. 

“Oh, never mind!” Flayn griped, plunking herself into an empty seat. “I shall just wait here for everyone to return!” 

“Suit yourself,” Byleth shook his head slowly. “Was there anything else you needed, Edelgard?” 

It took the heiress a moment to register his question as she tore her gaze away from Flayn. “No. Thank you, my teacher. Come, Hubert!” 

The two Imperials departed, leaving Byleth to look over his lesson plan in silence. 

“Say, Professor?” Flayn finally spoke up from her seat. “Do you think I can use the fireplace to cook this?” 

Her fish wriggled again in her grasp, those bright green eyes of hers gazing down upon it with a predator’s hunger. 

“If you eat that in here, you’re cleaning up the mess,” Byleth warned her. “And that’s Edelgard’s desk, by the way.” 

Flayn paused in her slavering adoration of the poor, possibly dying creature clutched to her chest to look at the dirty water dripping onto the clean wood of the desk. 

“You have about fifteen minutes to clean that up before everyone gets back from lunch,” Byleth pulled a rag and a glass bottle of cleaning solution from a drawer and placed them on his desk. “I’d move quickly if I were you.” 

By the time the after-lunch bell rang, Edelgard’s desk was gleaming and freshly polished by a red-faced Flayn, leaving Byleth to get his lecture materials ready as the youthful girl hurried over to another desk. 

“Is this one occupied by anyone, Professor?” she asked, and Byleth shook his head. “Oh, good!” 

She sat down, her lack of a fish about to draw a question from Byleth’s lips before the chattering of approaching hordes of students made him pause. A flood of black and gold streamed by the open doors, his own students mere droplets in the sea of somewhat eager younger minds that separated from the tides in order to enter his classroom. 

Edelgard frowned in confusion at her freshly cleaned desk before sitting behind it, Hubert taking his seat beside her after quickly examining the desk for potential traps. Caspar looked as if he were struggling to swallow something he’d hastily shoved into his mouth, his puffed cheeks the target of Linhardt’s world-weary gaze as the sleepy noble did his best to increase the distance between them. Even the other students sitting beside Caspar looked nervous as they took their seats next to him. 

Byleth opened his mouth to start the lecture when a shadow fell across the doorway, a familiar blue-clad lord rapping his knuckles against the wood. 

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting, Professor,” Dimitri bowed. “Um... I hate to ask, but...” 

Byleth sighed through his nostrils, slowly shaking his head as more of the students in the Blue Lion house came into view. “Manuela’s drunk again, isn’t she?” 

“Her lunch date stood her up,” Dedue rumbled, shaking his own head. “She is currently passed out on her desk.” 

For what felt like the thirtieth time this year. 

Byleth sighed. “She had not even a half hour to get that drunk. I’m actually impressed... alright, go ahead and pull out the extra desks.” 

“Thank you, Professor!” the Blue Lions poured into his classroom, hurriedly pulling out the extra chairs and desks from the sides of the room. 

As soon as they were settled, Byleth quickly conferred with Dimitri to confirm what Manuela had been lecturing on before she’d passed out. Luckily, the former songstress was in the same place in the Academy’s curriculum as he was: siege warfare. 

“Alright, it appears we are on the same page as far as the lecture material goes. Now-” 

“Yo, Teach!” A yellow form appeared at his classroom doors this time, holding up two fingers to his forehead in greeting as a shameless grin curved his lips. “Hanneman’s locked himself in his laboratory again, so we need someone else to lecture us!” 

Again? By the goddess, man, have you no sense of timekeeping? 

Byleth sighed through his nostrils once more. “Alright, you know the drill by now: extra desks are over there.” 

“Thanks, Teach! You’re the best!” Claude laughed as the Golden Deer poured into the room, filling it with a cacophony of wood grinding against stone as they rearranged the desks yet again. 

“Professor, perhaps you could have Captain Jeralt help with the lectures?” Leonie asked as she plunked herself down in a desk in the middle of the room. 

“Jeralt, Jeralt, Jeralt,” Felix muttered from his own seat between Marianne and Annette. “Is he all you ever think about, Leonie?” 

“Professor! Help me!” Bernadetta wailed as she burrowed further into her chair to escape Sylvain, who was currently trying to discretely murmur sweet nothings into her unwilling ears. 

Ingrid slapped the interloper, then dragged him to a desk placed directly in front of Byleth’s own before throwing the red-haired noble into the chair. 

“Can you all quit acting like fools for five minutes?” Lysithea griped, her little fists clenched on her desk. “We need to let the professor start!” 

Byleth sighed yet again, wondering what he did to deserve this madness, and then Raphael’s booming voice cut through the chaos. 

“That smells great! Who’s cooking fish over here?” 

Fish? 

Byleth’s gaze immediately swiveled to the fireplace, where Flayn was crouching as she held a wooden stake into the flames. 

“Flayn, what did I tell you?” 

Seteth’s little sister looked up from where she was cooking her catch, a sheepish smile turning her face into a deceptively angelic mien. “I’ll clean it up, I promise!” 

Well, Byleth supposed this was what he signed on for. 

“Alright, if this is everyone, let’s begin!” 


	2. The Battle of The Eagle and Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day has finally come: the three Houses take to Gronder Field and prepare to battle for dominance, yet that ancient presence deep within Byleth begins to awaken once more.

Byleth took in the vast field sprawling around them, already seeing fortifications and heavy weaponry in place for the mock battle. The sun was high in the cloudless azure expanse above, illuminating the verdant grasses swaying over Gronder Field. 

The wind was warm and gentle, carrying with it the scent of oiled metal and sweet grasses. It was a beautiful place to wage war. 

“My teacher, what’s the plan?” Edelgard stomped forward, her eyes gleaming just as much as the heavy armor that covered her did. 

The other students gathered around them, each one dressed for battle in the armor or mage robes that the Church had been generous enough to provide after they’d passed the certification exams. Byleth had been worried at first that he would need to procure more funds in order to properly equip his students for the battlefield, but the generosity of the Church of Seiros had taken him fully by surprise. 

“If this were a real battle, I would say that we hang back and let the other two armies weaken each other, but that’s not the goal here,” Byleth looked around at the expectant faces, the bright eyes that he had shaped into warriors and soldiers, and found his chest warming with pride. “Our goal is to defeat as many of the others as possible, so I say we get right into the fray from the get-go. Charge right in.” 

Edelgard sighed and held a hand up to her forehead, but her lips were curled into a smile. “That sounds like what a certain someone would say... but I agree. The purpose of this mock battle is to be the class that defeats the most opponents, as our Professor said.” 

“Then let’s do this!” Caspar cheered. 

“Isn’t there a fortress I can hide in?” Beradetta whimpered, clutching her newly-strung steel bow as she fiddled with her archer’s garb. “I’m just going to do that!” 

“It’s in the middle of enemy territory,” Linhardt informed her. “So, thank you for volunteering to cut through enemy lines and claim it.” 

The poor recluse wailed in despair and cowered behind her bow, despite the fact that the weapon did little to shield her. 

“Petra, I’d like you to lead your troops around the main hill there and into the trees. Try to flank whoever’s set up over on the western side of the field,” Byleth turned to the speedy princess, who nodded excitedly as she pumped a fist into the air. 

“An attack the enemy will not expect!” she declared with gleaming eyes. “I enjoy attacks that are surprising!” 

Byleth’s lips curved upwards at that. “Just like shooting two pheasants with one arrow, eh?” 

She grew solemn. “I have not had the mastery of such a technique yet. But I will be training with increasing hardness!” 

Wait, was she actually taking that phrase seriously? 

Well, whatever made her motivated, he supposed. 

“Dorothea and Benadetta: I want you two to go by the banks of the river closer to where the third class will be setting up,” Byleth gestured towards the east. “See if you can’t draw their archers away from the main force.” 

“But who’s going to be using the ballista on the central hill?” Bernadetta asked, swallowing her fear. 

Byleth cracked his knuckles and stretched as he pulled the Sword of the Creator from its bindings, taking a moment to study the ancient, cracked blade. He hadn’t heard that strange voice again over the course of the month’s lectures, and neither had Sothis, although Byleth was certain he could sense another presence slowly emerging from within the weapon and its absent core. It was a mystery he had no answers to, at least not at the moment. 

“I’ll use it: I’ve been studying the appropriate usage of the weapons so I could help Bernadetta and Petra hone their bow skills,” his gaze was lifted towards the tall cliffs overlooking the entirety of the battlefield, where banners depicting the Church of Seiros’s emblem were fluttering in the gentle breeze. “It’s almost time: everyone get with your battalions and make ready to move out!” 

Maybe that voice would show itself again... was it actually the King of Liberation or another ancient figure? There would have to be answers found later, hopefully. 

Imperial soldiers of all ranks and types filled in around them, mixing in with the veteran mercenaries that had served beneath Jeralt as they gathered around their respective commanders. 

The breeze carried the blaring of trumpets on it, all eyes falling upon the Archbishop as she gazed out across the field. 

“Our victory must be absolute,” Edelgard declared, brushing a hand through her white hair as her soldiers drew their blunted iron weapons in salute before them. 

It had taken quite a while to turn in the army’s worth of lethal weaponry for blunted ones more suited for a mock battle, but Byleth had been allowed to keep his legendary Relic. It still felt... wrong to be utilizing such a powerful weapon while he was the only professor present on the battlefield. Especially since he was also the only professor who had years of harsh combat experience. Despite Manuela’s insistence that her students would destroy him, Byleth was still plagued by doubts and a desire to keep this fight as fair as possible. 

He would have to be careful if he wanted to avoid severely injuring anyone with a sword that could apparently cleave mountains in half. 

The banners went up, the trumpets blared, and Edelgard’s sharp command rang out. 

“Forward, now!” 

With their voices combining into a guttural roar, the Black Eagles and Imperial soldiers poured towards the bridge separating them from the rest of Gronder Field. Byleth sprinted ahead at the front of the mob, Edelgard at his side easily keeping pace despite the heavy plate that had to be weighing her down. 

She was terrifying, if he was being honest. To think that such horrible things had been done to her... and she also carried the Crest of Flames because of said horrible things. 

He wanted to make her proud. 

Kingdom soldiers in blue-streaked armor moved to intercept the onrushing Black Eagles and Byleth immediately spotted Ingrid at the head of a small army of pegasus knights, all of which were currently making a beeline for Petra’s flanking force. 

Perhaps it had been a mistake to send Bernadetta and her own archer squadron to the east... that firepower would certainly have been useful here. 

“Ferdinand! Caspar!” Byleth slowed to shout orders, pushing his voice to its limits to be heard over the clashing of iron as Edelgard’s heavily armored division plowed into the onrushing Kingdom knights, the princess herself in the thick of the combat. “Take out those pegasus knights before they flank us!” 

The ballista on the hill fired, sending a bolt streaking over the heads of the Imperial forces and forcing many to duck. Ferdinand, Caspar, and their respective squadrons broke off from the main body of the Black Eagles, deploying to intercept Ingrid’s onrushing flankers. Edelgard was pushing for the ballista, she and her troops swatting aside everyone foolish enough to challenge the future emperor as her axe smashed swathes through the poor Kingdom troops. 

A deadly calm fell over Byleth as he took in the battle now beginning to unfold, an expert’s gaze roaming over the battle lines. From what he could see, the Kingdom’s skirmishers, led by Ashe, had taken the central fortified hill and were rushing to entrench themselves in the face of the onrushing army. A glance back to the east revealed that Bernadetta and Ignatz were trading fire with one another while Dorothea and her mages blasted a squadron of Alliance cavalry who’d attempted to get behind the Black Eagles. Bernadetta seemed to have the upper hand in the firefight, so Byleth turned his attention back to the threat of the onrushing Kingdom flankers. 

Ferdinand and Caspar had absorbed the full brunt of the aerial attack, soldiers heaving against one another all around the duo as they smashed apart challengers left and right. Defeated soldiers limped away in gaggles from the battle, although Byleth could see that there were far more blue troops retreating than red. 

“Forward! Forward! I will not be denied!” Edelgard’s roar drew his attention back to the hill fortifications, where the princess’s forces had decimated the Kingdom skirmishers. 

Poor Ashe had been thrown from the ballista by the ruthless princess, the boy and his troops being rounded up by defeated Imperial troops to be escorted from the battlefield. 

“My teacher, up here!” Edelgard called out, hefting her shield before her body as a volley of arrows peppered the fortifications. 

“Come on, Ashen Demon! Let’s get in there!” the mercenaries at Byleth’s side smashed their weapons and shields together, each man and woman grinning like maniacs. “We can’t let these greenhorns get the better of us!” 

Right, he still had to put on an example for his students. 

He led the mercs forward, their feet pounding against the wooden floors built onto the hill as they joined up with Edelgard’s battalion. Imperial soldiers in heavy armor parted to let them pass, lifting their large shields up in time to soak up another volley of arrows. 

“What do you think, my teacher?” Edelgard asked, her brow free of sweat as she lifted her own shield up to cover them both. 

To the west were the Blue Lions, who had set up amongst a plethora of wooden fences and a fortress that bolstered their defensive capabilities, though Dimitri seemed loathe to utilize it, given that he appeared to be ushering his army forward and out of the fortifications. 

To the east were the Golden Deer, who seemed to be trying to sneak past the Eagles and hit the other two classes from behind by using the thick forest to screen their movements. Until Lorenz and a plethora of cavalry came stampeding from the thick forest cover and made a beeline for the central hill. 

The yellow archers who’d been peppering the hill halted in their bombardment, not wanting to hit their own troops as they looked in confusion back to where Claude had to be stationed. A shout came from within the forest, carried by several voices as an order was relayed down the ranks, and the Golden Deer changed direction to advance towards the central hill. 

“Hubert! Linhardt!” Byleth gestured towards the narrower ramp leading up the eastern part of the hill. “Set up your troops here and hold the line until Bernadetta and Dorothea can flank them! We have the advantage of firing downhill, but try not to overshoot!” 

The mages corps, shielded by Edelgard’s knights, positioned themselves over the ramp and charged up their spells, Hubert’s sinister laugh making several of the troops inch away from the dark mage. 

A quick glance to the west showed that Caspar and Ferdinand had routed Ingrid’s aerial assault, allowing Petra’s troops to advance towards the unguarded Lion flank. He caught a glimpse of the hunter-princess suddenly engaging Felix, who had apparently been lying in wait for her, before Byleth looked back at Bernadetta and Dorothea. 

They had beaten back a Golden Deer flanking force led by Leonie and were currently stampeding towards the Alliance flank, the songstress’s voice carrying well on the winds kissing Byleth’s face. 

“We have control of much of the battlefield,” Edelgard observed. “All that’s left is to crush the enemy where they stand.” 

“Professor!” Flayn called over the din of hissing arrows and roaring magic, drawing his gaze to the plethora of fireballs streaking towards Hubert and Ferdinand. 

Wards were thrown up by the mages, but the wave of fire crashed upon them with the force of a raging storm. Heat blasted Byleth’s face, making him squint against the hot, blistering gusts washing over him. 

“Lysithea. Damn it,” he muttered, catching sight of the young genius among the yellow mages readying another volley. 

“Hold the line!” Edelgard bellowed, her corps again drawing their shields together as arrows peppered them from the Lions’ side this time. 

Bernie and Dorothea were too far away, and the mages corps had taken a heavy hit from the Deer. They were down to maybe half their usual strength... he had to act. 

“Wait for their vanguards to clash before taking them on, Edelgard,” Byleth barked, motioning for his own troops to follow. “I don’t want you getting caught in the middle of both forces.” 

“What are you going to do?” the princess asked, her gaze honing in onto the onrushing cavalry as understanding filled her gaze. “Be careful, my teacher.” 

Lorenz and his troops were drawing closer, being covered by Lysithea’s mages as they prepared another volley of fire. All Byleth had to do was distract them, draw their fire, and allow Linhardt and Hubert to recover. 

Stall for time. All he had to do was stall for time and give the onrushing girls a chance to catch the Deer from the flank. 

“So, wreak havoc?” a mercenary at Byleth’s side asked with a grin on her lips. 

“The usual,” he deadpanned back at her, earning a laugh from the rest of the company. 

Hopefully, Ferdinand and Caspar and Petra would be able to hit the Lions and split their focus while Edelgard’s forces slammed into the main body. 

The mercenaries stormed down the scorched ramp as fast as their legs could carry them, metal clanking and rattling and making Byleth’s ears ache from the cacophony. As they drew closer to Lorenz and his cavalry, something stirred deep within Byleth’s chest, a slumbering thing that was slowly beginning to open its eyes to the world around it. 

It didn’t feel like Sothis... 

Byleth pushed the unusual feeling aside and drew on the years of battle experience he had cultivated, the Sword of the Creator pulsing red as its power poured into him. 

“Destroy them all,” the ancient voice rumbled from deep inside. 

A nudge from an unseen force tugged him forward, snapping out his Relic and extending it with the flick of his wrist. With a hiss and a crackle, the Sword of the Creator’s whip-like blade lashed out with blinding speed, spewing scarlet sparks and energy. 

The Alliance troops faltered, horses rearing back and whinnying in terror as the pulsing red whip streaked towards them. 

Byleth ran forward, again feeling an unseen nudge in his body guiding his hand as it propelled the Sword of the Creator into Lorenz’s troops. He barely felt the impacts as the holy weapon sent men and horses crashing to the ground, ripping through shields and raised weapons alike with disturbing ease. 

Lorenz was the first to try to pick himself up as the fallen horses clambered upright and cantered away, whinnying in fear despite their riders’ best attempts to calm them. 

“W-what was that?” the Gloucester noble stammered, his face smeared with mud and grass stains as he stared up at the mercenary towering above him. “Professor?” 

“Sorry,” was all Byleth could offer as his mercenaries moved among the heaps of fallen Alliance soldiers, tapping each one with their weapons to formally take them out of the fight. 

What had that been, anyway? That guiding force was gone, leaving an emptiness in its wake that filled Byleth with unease. He looked up to where the Archbishop and the others from the Church were watching the battle, his eyes meeting Rhea’s own bright emerald irises. 

His chest warmed, something inside stirred, and the ancient voice rumbled from the depths of his being. 

“SEIROS.” 

The rage that flooded his heart made him clutch at his chest, the pounding of his pulse in his head making the world tremble in time with each beat. 

“Kid! Kid!” a mercenary was shaking his shoulders, shouting into his ear. “Hey, snap out of it!” 

Someone smacked the Sword of the Creator from his grasp, but the shakiness of the blurring world never faded as his vision became tinted with yellow. 

“That’s enough of that!” Sothis’s voice cut through the haze, the cool embrace of her power chasing away the other presence. “I will not have you reduced to a wreck by whatever that was!” 

The young face of the specter filled his vision as her too-bright green eyes bore into him, her unusual garb and long hair swishing around her. The haze slowly drained away, the world sharpening back into focus along with the three or so mercenaries now hollering into Byleth’s ears as their rough hands heaved him around. The fuzzy, unusual feeling still remained within his chest, blossoming just beneath his flesh. 

“Kid! Someone get a healer over here!” 

“Stop shaking me,” Byleth demanded as his head was whipped painfully forward by a mercenary. “Please. This is not helping.” 

Sothis hovered before him, not even seeming to care as a mercenary ran right through her. “What was that? That presence... I have never felt so much anger before! And why did it say ‘Seiros’?” 

“Kid, are you okay?” the mercenaries had, thankfully, stopped shaking him. “What the hell happened with your sword?” 

“My sword?” his gaze was drawn downwards, where the Sword of the Creator lay in a cluster of smoldering, blackened grass. “What happened?” 

The mercenaries shared concerned looks, the sound of onrushing footsteps drawing Byleth’s attention to where Bernadetta and Dorothea were quickly approaching with their units in tow. 

“Professor! What happened?!” both girls bore wide-eyed expressions of terror as they dashed up to him. 

“Yeah, are you okay?” Lysithea was approaching as well, her own battalion trudging off with fresh burns marring many of their uniforms. “You looked like you were about to burst into flames.” 

“I... I’m not sure, to be honest,” Byleth shook his head slowly. “I felt some power from the sword and then... the world just faded into a yellow haze.” 

“Your sword was glowing and burning brightly after you used it, and it looked like it was about to catch you aflame,” Lysithea explained, gesturing at the scorched grass. “Are you certain you’re okay, Professor?” 

“Aside from this funny feeling in my chest, I feel fine,” he looked at the clustered Alliance soldiers. “Is everyone okay?” 

“Lorenz and his people are fine,” Lysithea waved a dismissive hand, eyes similar in color to Edelgard’s boring into Byleth with naked concern and fear. “Nobody was seriously hurt, though I must admit that I’m sorely disappointed that I let your attack distract me. Hubert and Linhardt rained down fire on me the moment I turned my attention to you.” 

“The fight,” her words snapped him back to reality, made him remember that he was currently in the middle of a massive mock battle between the three Houses. “Does this mean I’m out?” 

“You foolish child! Why is that your concern?!” Sothis demanded, now hovering above Byleth as she swiped a small hand at him. “Your Relic nearly burned you alive!” 

“I don’t know, but perhaps it would be safest if you didn’t participate any further,” Lysithea suggested, blissfully ignorant to the ethereal hand currently passing harmlessly through Byleth’s head. 

“Um, Professor?” Bernadetta squeaked, her eyes glued to the ground. “What is that?” 

Byleth followed suit, surprise and alarm spiking through his mind at the sight of the burned grass smoldering around the Sword of the Creator. The Crest of Flames had been seared into the blackened foliage, spreading out from beneath the empty core where the Crest Stone would have been. 

“That’s my Crest,” Byleth answered, stooping to pick up the sword. “The Crest of Flames.” 

The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, waves of unfathomable heat blasted Byleth, the unusual material burning into his palm with searing agony that made him cry out and drop it. 

“Professor!” Dorothea and Lysithea were immediately grabbing his hand, gentle light and cool magic coursing into the blazing agony and chasing it away. 

“Thank you,” Byleth exhaled heavily and turned his hand over to examine it. 

“Jeez, kid!” one of the mercenaries groaned. “Are you sure you’re okay?!” 

His armor and the glove had been melted by the hilt, his flesh pale with veins of white magic zipping through it. 

“Don’t touch it,” Lysithea ordered, her voice shaky as she stared at the fallen sword. “What is going on with that thing?” 

“Hey, what’s going on?!” Catherine and a small group of Seiros knights were hurriedly approaching, their armor clanking loudly in a metallic crescendo that always grated on Byleth’s ears. “Professor, is everything okay?” 

“You tell me,” another mercenary grunted. “The kid’s Relic damn near fried him twice!” 

“Fried him? What are you... Is that the Crest of Flames burned onto the ground?” Catherine frowned at the scorched grass, wrinkling her nose at the stench of ash now rising from it. 

“Yeah. The sword pulled me forward and guided me in battle, and then... this happened,” Byleth could feel Sothis’s eyes boring holes into his head, silently soaking in and judging every word he spoke. 

“It pulled you forward? Guided you?” Catherine frowned, her fingers rapping against Thunderbrand’s own ancient hilt. “Thunderbrand has never done that to me: it only fills me with power on the battlefield.” 

“Something from the sword did,” Byleth sighed, warily eyeing the sword that had burned through his armor. “I don’t know what happened.” 

“We should get you to the infirmary, just to be safe,” Catherine decided. “But, uh, I don’t want to just leave your Relic sitting there in the middle of the field.” 

Byleth hesitated: part of him didn’t want to leave the field until he was certain all of his students got off of it safely. His was their teacher, and he had a responsibility to see this through. 

“I... think I’ll stay just to see the end of the battle. It’s my duty as their professor, isn’t it?” 

“Professor...” Dorothea and Bernadetta looked torn between staying and continuing to fight, glancing at one another and holding a silent conversation. 

“Professor!” Flayn’s voice drew his attention back to the central hill, where the girl was sprinting towards him, a small fish clutched in her hands. 

“Where the hell did she get that fish?” A mercenary took the words right out of Byleth’s mouth, all eyes watching as the girl hurriedly skidded to a halt. 

“Edeldgard wanted me to inform you that she’s crushed both advance forces and is currently catching Dimitri between everyone’s groups,” Flayn announced, looking around in confusion. “Why is everyone staring at me? Have I said something odd?” 

“Where did you get that?” Catherine asked, pointing at the little bass in Flayn’s arms. 

“I grabbed it from the river before we started, why?” she asked, looking completely baffled. 

“I don’t remember you having that when we were on the banks of the river,” Byleth frowned. “So the battle is progressing in our favor?” 

Flayn nodded. “Between Edelgard and the rest of the class, the Blue Lions are surrounded and we have soundly driven back the Golden Deer. All that’s left is to just finish up.” 

“We should be putting the pressure on who’s left in the Golden Deer,” Dorothea murmured, her voice slow and hesitant. 

“Go ahead, I’ll be fine here,” Byleth nodded to the girls. “Go and win this thing.” 

Dorothea planted a fake smile on her face in an attempt to appear cheerful as she winked, although worry still shone within her eyes. “Leave this to us, Professor! Come on, Bernie!” 

“W-what? But...” Bernadetta saw Dorothea and her troops already running ahead and let out a low whine before following, her own soldiers hurrying after her as several called reassurances back to Byleth. 

“Leave this to us, sir!” 

“We’ll do you proud!” 

Catherine lightly bumped Byleth’s shoulder with her own. “Go ahead and watch the battle wind down: I’ll keep an eye on your sword.” 

“Are you sure?” Byleth frowned at the Relic that had nearly burned his hand off. “I don’t want to just force it on you.” 

“Go,” the swordmaster ordered, pushing him towards the hill. 

“Thanks,” was all Byleth got out before Flayn grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the hill. 

He stumbled and hurried to recapture his balance as he allowed Flayn to drag him, her hand wet against his and smelling of fish. Seriously, where did she find the time to fish and get her claws into that poor creature? 

The duo came to the top of the hill, which had been abandoned by the bulk of the Black Eagle forces save for Linhardt and his mages. The view of the rest of the field drew a proud smile to his lips. 

The Eagles had thoroughly crushed the remainder of the Blue Lions, leaving scores of defeated azure soldiers in their wake as they’d surrounded and decimated Dimitri and Dedue’s last holdouts. From what Byleth could see, Petra, Ferdinand, and Caspar had caught the Lion’s flank completely off-guard while Edelgard and the Deer had held the bulk of the army in place. With the Lions dealt with, Edelgard had turned to the Deer and plowed through them, her armored corps shrugging off all manner of attacks while Hubert and Linhardt had engaged the Deer from afar. 

“My teacher!” Edelgard was lifting her axe in triumph from amidst the gaggle of defeated enemies and celebrating allies as the Black Eagles’ shouting filled the air. 

Flayn cheered at his side. “That was exciting! It’s been far too long since I’ve had to take to the battlefield like this!” 

“How old are you, again?” Byleth frowned down at the fish-loving girl, who responded with a wink and a mysterious smile. 

“Very,” was the only word she said before walking over to a dozing Linhardt. “Say, Linhardt? Could you conjure some fire for me?” 

“Too much energy,” was all the boy responded with before burying his face into his arms. 

Several of the mages milling around him rolled their eyes at his words, a couple stacking up some wood before lighting it, with an overjoyed squeal emanating from Flayn. 

Byleth shook his head and looked back to see Dimitri, Claude, and Edelgard all approaching the hill, the two boys looking battered and bruised. 

“Well, you beat us quite soundly,” Claude sighed, pulling a twig out of his hair. “Utter defeat...” 

“You were fearsome opponents, but I hope we will never have to put this experience to use,” Dimitri nodded, fiddling with a torn glove. “I would hate to know a future where I’d have to cross swords with you a second time.” 

“No need to be so generous with the praise,” Edelgard shook her head. “I know you feel as if we won by a paper-thin margin. If we were to clash again, I honestly cannot say who would emerge victorious.” 

Then she paused, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Byleth. “Professor, what happened with you? Where’s your sword?” 

“Hey, Teach, what happened to your arm?” Claude asked, Edelgard’s hand shooting out and closing around Byleth’s wrist. 

She pulled his arm forward and up to display the melted armor and sleeve, a small gasp escaping her lips. “My teacher, what happened?!” 

“The Sword of the Creator did... something to me when I was driving off Lorenz’s cavalry,” Byleth was careful with the words he chose, trying not to alarm the students. “After I attacked, it all but burst into flames in my hand.” 

“Professor, do you need to go to the infirmary?” Dimitri asked, his eyes wide with alarm as he studied the damaged material. 

“I will take you there immediately,” Edelgard declared, stomping in the direction of where Rhea had said a temporary field hospital would be erected for the fighters, her armor-enclosed fingers dragging Byleth behind her with a grip of iron. “Hubert, take a report of our casualties! I want to know how many of our troops had been defeated!” 

“Yes, Lady Edelgard,” the devoted mage hurried off to carry out his orders, ignoring the two lords who hurried after the Professor and the princess. 

“I have a proposal for when we get back to the monastery,” Claude spoke up even as he practically jogged to keep pace with Edelgard. “We should have a grand feast to break down the walls between our houses. And by ‘grand’ feast, I mean a generally normal feast in the dining hall. Does that sound good?” 

“Yes, that sounds like a good plan,” Edelgard said, not really paying attention as she continued dragging Byleth towards the small city of white tents erected on the very edge of Gronder Field. 

“Edelgard, I’m fine,” Byleth experimentally tried to free his hand, but Edelgard’s grasp wouldn’t be denied, despite the fact that she was just over half his size. “Dorothea and Lysithea already healed me up.” 

She slowed her pace, concerned eyes roaming over her professor as she sought any reason to continue dragging him towards the field hospital. “Do you feel strange at all? Anywhere?” 

“My chest is a bit fuzzy, but that’s it,” Byleth answered, glancing back at where Catherine and the knights were standing around the scorched grass marking his Relic’s resting place. “Catherine is keeping an eye on the Sword where I dropped it, so I’ll have to go back to get it.” 

“My teacher, what exactly happened with the Sword of the Creator?” the Adrestian princess asked. “Tell me everything.” 

Her commanding gaze and iron-tipped tongue nearly made him snap to attention before her, although the concern that lingered in the very corners of her eyes broke the trance. 

“I felt something inside the sword guiding me forward in battle, almost like something else had taken ahold of me and was using me to fight,” Byleth answered. “After I’d taken out Lorenz and his troops, the sword began to radiate power and heat until it apparently almost set me on fire. I... felt like I was in a haze.” 

“Something else inside the sword?” Edelgard frowned, keeping her fingers wrapped around Byleth’s wrist. “My teacher, please be more careful when using the sword in the future. I... I do not know what I would do if something happened to you...” 

Then she froze, her cheeks turning as red as the cape she often wore. “Ah, pay no attention to my rambling, professor!” 

He felt a smile tug his lips as he looked at his student. “I appreciate your concern, Edelgard. Thank you.” 

“To see such a big smile on your face is a rare gift. It makes me feel as if I can relax, too,” she looked away, finally releasing him from her ironclad grasp. “Come, let’s see what is going on with your Relic, shall we?” 

The duo strode side-by-side back towards Catherine and the other knights, where the swordmaster was poking the fallen Sword of the Creator with a stick. 

“Hey, Professor, I think it’s safe to pick up, but be careful!” Catherine called as she again prodded the weapon. 

“Thank you, Catherine,” Byleth nodded to the knight, warily reaching down and brushing his fingers against the rough material of the hilt. 

It was cool to the touch, and so he wrapped his hand fully around the hilt. He picked it up, relieved that it didn’t burst into flames in his grasp as he hooked it to his waist. 

“Does it feel alright, my teacher?” Edelgard asked, her tone neutral and commanding: the voice of a future emperor. 

“It doesn’t feel unusual,” he answered, only just managing to keep himself from jumping when Sothis abruptly reappeared and thrust her face into his. 

“Not unusual?” she repeated, placing her hands on her hips. “Can you not sense it? The other presence lingering within us?” 

“Maybe we can get Lady Rhea to look at you, just to be safe,” Catherine was saying, rubbing a hand against the back of her head as she pondered. “Maybe she knows something?” 

The mere mention of Rhea was enough to make his chest warm with rage once again, that other presence rumbling from deep within. 

Sothis yelped and ducked behind Byleth, her presence a faint pressure against his back as she hovered behind him. “Well, whatever it is, it doesn’t like Rhea at all! Why ever could that be?” 

It had said ‘Seiros’ before. Come to think of it, hadn’t the saint’s tomb been completely empty save for the Sword of the Creator? Had her bones been moved or had she ever been buried there to begin with? 

“Maybe,” Byleth answered Catherine, just managing to stop himself from voicing his and Sothis’ concerns. “But I think the students were hoping to have a feast, first.” 

“Ooh, a feast!” Catherine’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Count me in! All that good food... I can’t wait!” 

She was almost as bad as Rafael and Ingrid... 

“Shall we be off, my teacher?” Edelgard spoke up. “We should be back at the monastery by nightfall.” 

“Yeah, let’s go,” he nodded to her before walking at her side back to where the rest of the Black Eagles were waiting, the students a bit bruised and beaten but each one laughing and chattering amongst themselves as they celebrated their hard-won victory. 

Pride warmed Byleth’s chest, yet the concerns over what had happened with his Relic and this strange second presence lingered in the back of his mind. 

What was going to happen now? 


	3. The King of Liberation

Byleth remained silent as he strode through the corridors of Garreg Mach, this month’s assignment leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as he digested Rhea’s words. 

Remire Village, where he’d met Edelgard and the others, was being afflicted by some strange disease, or some sort of dark magic, if Manuela’s musings had had any sort of credibility to them. He didn’t doubt her: she knew far more about medicine and healing than anyone else in the Monastery, but who would do this to innocent villagers? 

And then he’d nearly fainted in front of his father... that sudden dizziness having affected Sothis as well. Just what had that been? Even that other presence had been quieted by it, despite being so active for these past few days. 

It was relieving to not feel it inside of him so often, but also concerning. What exactly was it? 

Byleth entered the dining hall, which was mostly empty, and caught sight of Edelgard and Hubert quietly discussing something at the other side of the room. Curious, he strode forward to see what they were doing. 

“Someone comes,” Hubert immediately clammed up, although he relaxed the moment he saw the Professor approaching. 

“Professor, I heard about our mission this month,” Edelgard spoke, a frown on her lips. “Something terrible is happening in Remire Village. That’s where you were when fate sent you our way. This feels...preordained.” 

“Are the knights making progress in their investigation?” Hubert asked, as stoic and solemn as ever. 

“They are,” Byleth answered. “Although they’re still not sure what’s going on.” 

Hubert nodded, his face a mask of iron. “If what is happening there is by design, there must be someone pulling the strings. There is the Death Knight, of course. And the mysterious mages who were implicated with the Western Church.” 

The young man folded his arms thoughtfully. “They were there when Flayn was kidnapped as well. And now there is another strange occurrence near the monastery... It seems an unknown organization hopes to make the monastery its stage for something.” 

“Do you believe all of these incidents are connected, Professor?” Edelgard asked, both of the Imperials staring at him. 

Did he? Sure, there could certainly be some connections, but it all seemed to be circumstantial. Although... the Death Knight had been involved both at the Holy Mausoleum and with Flayn’s kidnapping, so perhaps there was a connection, if only a faint one. 

“I do not,” he found himself saying, Edelgard’s face a picture of surprise as she paused. 

“Oh, I’m surprised to hear you say that. But, I agree. It certainly appears that all of the events surrounding the monastery are connected by a single thread. However... I think it’s possible that it may just be a result of different motives overlapping,” her expression turned serious. “Remember, Professor... If you think of people as simply enemies or allies, it may be impossible to grasp the truth.” 

Such an ominous claim... why did Byleth get the feeling she knew more than she let on? 

“I will take my leave,” Edelgard bowed. “Take care, my teacher, and please take caution when handling the Sword of the Creator from now on.” 

“I will,” Byleth nodded. “I hope you’re both ready for this month’s lessons.” 

Edelgard grinned. “Bring it on, my teacher. You will see just what I am capable of.” 

A chuckle escaped his lips. “I look forward to it.” 

Hubert frowned at him, the dislike in the loyal servant’s visible eye warning Byleth to yet another trailing and/or assassination attempt from him. Hubert’s first attempts at intimidation had started immediately after Byleth had invited Edelgard to tea in order to get a better feel for the princess and what she thought of how he was teaching. 

After Ferdinand had given him that extra tea set, it had just felt natural to start with Edelgard, given that she was the head of the Eagles. Since then, he’d invited every single student to similar talks, although Hubert’s had really been just him threatening the professor before walking away. 

Edelgard had since asked Byleth to tea twice, rather than the other way around, aside from the other times they’d had tea together at his invitation, and the two had spoken of many things for hours, ranging from history to military tactics to that day’s lesson. She’d once spoken of her nightmares again, commenting that they’d lessened in intensity and frequency ever since she’d confided in him about them. 

“If there’s nothing else, I’ll be on my way,” Byleth felt a sudden urge to visit the cemetery again, to see his mother’s grave. “Have a good day, you two.” 

“And you, Professor,” Hubert said in a low, slightly menacing voice carrying all sorts of untold threats. 

Edelgard scowled at him, no doubt detecting said unsaid threats. 

Byleth walked away, winding his way through students, staff, and churchgoers that called out to him as he passed. He could hear Alois at the fishing pond, trying again to catch a fish after failing miserably to do so during the tournament. 

Byleth had participated for one day, somehow managing to snag the Tetuates Herring that Flayn desired after casting a few times. The other students had been disappointed that he’d beaten them so quickly, but it had been fun seeing everybody enjoying themselves and forgetting about the rigors of academy life even if just for a few hours. 

He made his way past all of it to the cemetery, where one of the other students was silently praying before a headstone. It was here his mother lay, a woman he’d never met who’d apparently died bringing him into this world. 

Who had she been? Why was it that he could see and hear Sothis, when nobody else could? And what was it that was in his chest that allowed not one but two other presences to exist inside of him? 

Sothis stirred, her weariness making his own eyelids droop as both man and specter yawned in tandem. 

Perhaps it would be best to get some rest, given that he had nothing else to do for today. It was almost nightfall, anyway, if the flame-hued skies were any indication as the sun sank to the horizon. 

Byleth said a silent prayer for his mother and for the safety of his students before walking back to his chambers. He could hear Hilda and Claude arguing over some scheme or another as he passed, briefly wondering just what those two were up to this time. The ringing of weapons from the training grounds was familiar as always, as were the wingbeats of wyverns and pegasi above as aerial knights finished up their patrols for the day. 

By the time Byleth reached his quarters, his body was leaden and heavy, his feet dragging with every step he took until he slunk into his bed. The warmth wrapped around him, dragging him into the abyss of sleep. 

There was darkness at first, empty nothingness, and then flames roared to life, showing a bloody field covered in corpses of man and beasts both aerial and grounded alongside broken weapons: the aftermath of a terrible battle. Byleth was relieved he couldn’t smell anything, the stench of so much death would have been unbearable. 

“I was arrogant, too certain of my own power,” that deep, ancient voice filled the heavy, thick air. “I thought I could take on everything those damn creatures could throw at me.” 

Byleth was thrown over the carpet of death and ruin, stopping on the edge of the battlefield as sunlight began to shine upon it all. Beneath him lay that titan of a warrior: the bearded older man dressed in ancient armor with a dark cape and chains sprawled around him. His chest bore numerous wounds red with blood, as if he’d been stabbed repeatedly not too long ago as a sanguine pool lay around his upper body. 

“I paid for my arrogance, yet part of me couldn’t accept it,” the warrior’s eyes opened, smoldering yellow irises meeting Byleth’s own. “And what about you, boy? Could you ever accept failure after giving everything you had to fighting for what you believed in?” 

Byleth hesitated, not really sure how he should answer that as the King of Liberation rose from the ground, filling the air with the many chains rattling around him. 

“Not an easy question to answer, I’m sure, but it’s one that I’ve had over a thousand years to ponder,” the titan rumbled, standing a couple feet over Byleth as he stared down at the smaller man. “To think that my greatest enemy and the one I hate the most would be the only reason that I continue to exist for so long after my death.” 

“You’re Nemesis, aren’t you?” Byleth finally spoke, his throat dry. “The King of Liberation.” 

A bitter smile formed on the older man’s face. “That was what I was called, long ago. The reality is that I failed to liberate anything or anyone, thanks to Seiros and her damned minions. Do you want to know the truth of what happened so long ago? Of what all that fighting and death and ruin was about?” 

He did, but there were so many more questions that he needed answers to. Things that he felt that the Church was hiding from him. 

Nemesis leaned over, his ancient eyes filled with pain and longing and a thousand regrets. “You want to know what’s in your chest, don’t you? Why you can feel me and that other one?” 

And rage... so much rage that made those yellow irises burn with the intensity of a dying sun. 

That warmth in his chest, that fuzzy strangeness that had been plaguing him ever since the Battle of the Eagle and Lion only intensified. It felt like something was... stirring, waking up from deep within. 

Byleth looked back up at the ancient king, whose eyes were looking straight through him. “Who am I? What is the Church not telling me?” 

“Who are you? I can’t answer that, not yet,” Nemesis shook his head slowly. “Only you can. As for the Church of that bitch... there’s far too many answers to that question. Too many lies to break apart to find the truth.” 

The world shimmered, Nemesis frowning as he looked around. “Something else is here... the other one... what is it? It feels so familiar and yet...” 

Byleth woke up, his body drenched in cold sweat as he sat up and looked at the window. Darkness filtered through, with the glimmer of stars and a crescent moon. Perhaps it was sometime after midnight? 

Too many questions, not enough answers. The room felt too tight, too close, too hot, and Byleth pushed himself to stand as he slung his legs out from the covers. He left the room behind, striding out into the night of the monastery. He looked at the Sword of the Creator, a whim leading him to take the weapon and hang it from his waist. His thoughts led his body to the graveyard yet again, and he found himself standing before his mother’s grave, feeling the warmth in his sword and his chest resonating with each other. 

He sensed Hubert long before the young man got close to him, his ominous, threatening voice reaching his ears. 

“Professor, out alone so late at night?” Hubert approached from behind, his hands behind a stiff back. “Desiring a visit to your mother’s grave?” 

The threats were all there, as was the knife so cleverly hidden in his sleeve. Most likely poisoned, if Byleth knew him. 

“I couldn’t sleep, needed some fresh air,” Byleth answered, feeling the Sword of the Creator warm in his grasp and send him warnings about the threat. 

Was this it? Was Hubert actually making a serious attempt on his life? 

“A fair sentiment, although I cannot say how wise of a decision it was,” Hubert mused. 

“Why is that?” Byleth asked, although he already knew the answer. 

“Lady Edelgard has taken quite the interest in you, you know,” the mage informed him, his tone casual even if his intentions were anything but. “She trusts you explicitly and is more than a little fond of you.” 

“Is that so?” Byleth muttered, the unusual warmth in the sword and chest intensifying. “She’s a good student and a great person. I’m proud of how far she’s come and I look forward to what she’ll do.” 

He felt the sword extend, so slowly that it didn’t make a single sound as the invisible hand of the one within guided the weapon. 

“It is indeed. Yet you cannot be trusted. Your loyalties are more than a little suspect, and now I can sense something else just beneath the surface... something with different desires than your own. You are a threat to Lady Edelgard, and I cannot allow that,” Hubert’s words were reminiscent of the last time he’d spoken to Byleth, when he’d caught the mage trailing him. “She is putting too much faith where it mustn’t be placed, and I will not allow her to suffer for it.” 

“You plan to kill me?” Byleth guessed, not making a single move. 

“Forgive me, Professor, but Lady Edelgard will forever be first and foremost my concern, not you,” Hubert moved almost too quickly for Byleth to see, his dagger streaking towards the mercenary-turned-professor's heart. 

And then the mage froze as the serpentine coils of the Sword of the Creator wrapped around his extended arm and neck in a heartbeat, threatening his vitals with razor-sharp teeth as his own dagger froze mere inches away from its target. 

“Kill the upstart,” Nemesis’s voice growled from deep within, Hubert’s eyes widening in alarm as the reality of the situation sank in. 

“How did you-” the mage stopped as the whip-like sword constricted tighter around his throat and arm, forcing him to drop the dagger. 

The weapon bounced off the gravestone with a clang of iron against stone before settling into the grass, the silence of the night claiming everything once more. 

“I won’t kill you, since Edelgard would be quite upset if I did, not to mention the Academy and your family,” Byleth informed his would-be assassin. “But this is the only time I will let you walk away from this without consequence.” 

Hubert gave the tiniest of nods, which was all he could manage without slicing his own throat and shredding his extended arm. 

“Do not let this happen again, is that clear?” Byleth looked his student dead in the eyes, saw the understanding in them as Hubert repeated the miniscule nod. “Good. Now, get some rest, Mister von Vestra, and I will see you in class tomorrow.” 

The Sword of the Creator turned its segmented blades so it wouldn’t shred the student as the weapon unwrapped itself from him, snapping back into a singular entity. Hubert gave a stiff bow and walked away, not caring about the dagger he’d left discarded in the grass by his target’s feet as he vanished into the night. 

Byleth sighed, turning back to the grave as he allowed himself to relax. 

“My teacher, I am sorry for what Hubert tried to do,” Edelgard’s voice made him jump, whirling to see the young princess striding towards him, dressed in her uniform. “If I’d known... I would have done everything in my power to stop him.” 

“You followed him?” Byleth guessed once he’d recovered from her sudden appearance, although the dark circles under her eyes said otherwise. “Or were you having more nightmares?” 

How had he not sensed her? Perhaps because she wasn’t trying to kill him? 

The princess stood by his side, gazing down at the dagger by his feet. “Both, I suppose. And... I thought I’d heard a rat in my room.” 

“I could have one of the monastery staff do a sweep later, see if they can find where the critters are getting in,” Byleth offered, earning a smile from Edelgard. “What would you have done if Hubert had succeeded?” 

The smile faded immediately. “I would have been furious, most likely. Hubert expressly went against my orders to not harm you by any means so long as you remained my teacher.” 

“So, you have considered having me removed as a threat?” Byleth mused, Edelgard tensing at his side as she continued staring at the gravestone and the dagger lying before it. 

Perhaps she saw his own name being carved into it? Did it frighten her? Please her? 

“At first, yes,” she admitted. “I had entertained the thought once and once alone, and I still find myself regretting it. You have proven yourself to be a stout ally... and a treasured friend.” 

“I’m glad you feel that way, Edelgard,” Byleth could still feel that warmth, that pride whenever he looked at her. “I feel the same about you, and I will admit that you keep smashing any expectation I have of you.” 

“Thank you, my teacher,” she folded her arms, her face tight with warring thoughts as a sigh escaped her. “The moment I turn my attention to one of the many problems and pitfalls opening before me, Hubert goes and does this. I’m so sick of it all. Some days, I just wish I could spend just one day doing nothing and gorging myself on sweets!” 

She was opening up to him again, shedding the mask of the princess and future emperor and giving a rare glimpse of the girl beneath. The girl who’d suffered horribly, who had to carry an Empire upon her shoulders while being forced to feel so much and reveal so little. 

“Let’s do just that,” the words came from Byleth’s lips before he realized what had happened. 

Edelgard laughed. “Do you mean it? Just the thought makes me happy.” Her expression fell. “But... Hubert would never allow it.” 

“That’s too bad,” Byleth murmured, recalling how Edelgard had spoken of what had been done to her, the lives that had been sacrificed in order to imbue her with the selfsame Crest he carried. 

She’d been so vulnerable, yet she’d trusted him so explicitly and had been comfortable revealing this to him. 

“Indeed,” Edelgard nodded. “It may not be possible now, but one day we will know the joys of idling. Mark my words.” 

Her determination made a smile curve his lips, the notion immediately drawing Edelgard’s eyes as she scowled at him. 

“Is that a smirk I spy? Is it so amusing to you, me daydreaming of free time?” she demanded, those mental barriers she’d lowered around him immediately rising once again. 

Byleth was quick to shake his head. “You misunderstand me, Edelgard. I’m not trying to mock you.” 

Those walls hesitantly lowered. “Huh! Your silly grin says otherwise.” 

She sighed, shaking her head as her scowl faded. “But let’s put all that aside for now. There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’m afraid this may sound a bit... sentimental. However, I wanted to thank you. Because of you, I feel as if I can walk my fated path without losing myself. If I were alone, I might have lost perspective and become a harsh leader with a heart of ice.” 

What had brought this on? Maybe Hubert’s assassination attempt or his Relic nearly burning him alive on Gronder Field? 

“But I’m not alone: with you by my side, I’m somehow free to be not only a leader but... simply Edelgard,” the princess stooped to pick up the dagger, her gaze unwavering as she watched a bead of poison fall from the blade. 

“I’m glad,” Byleth answered truthfully, and her walls fell. 

“Until now, no one has been able to surpass me- much less command me. I have always been seen as an untouchable princess or emperor. No one spoke to me as an equal or met my gaze without flinching. It was lonely... terribly lonely. The only person I could rely on as I tried to claw my way out of the darkness was myself,” her gaze lifted to him, a warm smile curving her lips. “But you... you have been a brilliant light. Somehow, you have chased the darkness away. And for that, I will always be grateful.” 

This was embarrassing, to say the least, and Edelgard seemed to realize that, if the reddening of her cheeks was any indication. 

“Oh, listen to me babbling like a foolish schoolgirl!” she lamented, averting her gaze. “I must sound like an utter fool!” 

“It’s nice to talk to you like this, Edelgard,” Byleth was quick to reassure her, not wanting her to beat herself up as much as she was wont to do. “I’m honored that you think so highly of me, though I must admit I’m a little embarrassed as well.” 

“A little? I suppose I should be glad to hear that, given what I’ve just spouted off,” Edelgard gave a short laugh, shaking her head. “There is just something about you that makes me trust you completely... I feel as if I could tell you anything.” 

“And you can,” Byleth assured. “You and everyone else can talk to me about absolutely anything. It will be kept confidential, of course.” 

Edelgard shook her head again. “My teacher... It’s late, and I should be getting back to bed. Sleep well, Professor.” 

“You too, Edelgard,” Byleth watched her walk away for a moment, about to depart himself when the girl paused. 

“You know, it feels... wrong to call you a treasured friend yet to only call you ‘Professor’ or ‘my teacher’,” she turned back to him, a thoughtful look on her face. 

Another small smile tugged at Byleth’s lips. “You can refer to me by my name if you’d prefer it, so long as it’s not during the middle of a lecture.” 

“That goes without saying,” Edelgard smiled as well. “You know, it would only be fair if I asked you call me something more familiar, would it not?” 

Byleth shook his head. “That’s not necessary, Edelgard.” 

“Perhaps, but it would mean a great deal to me if you considered calling me ‘El’ from time to time,” the Adrestian princess proposed. “Now, I really must get back to my room. Sleep well... Byleth.” 

“You too, El,” he found the name pleasant on his tongue as he spoke, natural. 

She smiled before turning away, her next words nearly lost on the cool breeze coasting through the monastery. “It’s nice to finally have someone who can call me ‘El’ again... thank you.” 

And then she was gone, leaving Byleth alone with the two beings that now resided within him. 

“My, my, that was an eventful night, wasn’t it?” Sothis hummed, lounging lazily on the stone wall surrounding the cemetery. “That girl is a little too fond of you, if you ask me.” 

“I wasn’t asking you,” Byleth said drily, earning an indignant huff from the specter. “She’s a good student and I trust her with my life on the battlefield.” 

“Is that all?” Sothis asked. 

Was it? 

Byleth sighed, shaking his head as he fought the urge to just fall asleep here and now. “Now is hardly the time for this.” 

“I agree. What were you dreaming of before I woke you up?” Sothis asked, her gaze unblinking as she stared into his very soul. 

“That other presence spoke to me again,” Byleth answered. “It was Nemesis, the King of Liberation from the old stories.” 

“Truly? But, how could he be a part of you?” Sothis frowned, turning her gaze away from him. “Unless... he could use the Sword of the Creator, could he not? And you only began hearing his voice after you got the Relic.” 

“Do you think part of his spirit was sealed in the sword?” Byleth frowned thoughtfully. “He did need to have some sort of connection to it in order to wield it... and he did have the Crest of Flames, although I wonder how he got it. The legends say that he was given the sword by the goddess, but the question is how.” 

“Indeed,” Sothis sighed in frustration. “I can feel that we’re close to an answer, yet I cannot remember! This is annoying to no small end!” 

“Agreed, but there’s nothing more to be done at the moment,” Byleth could feel that warmth pulsating within his chest, found himself wondering if it was Nemesis or Sothis as the warmth blossomed even brighter. 

The world began to soften, to dull as if some clear yet fuzzy cloth had been draped across his eyes. 

“W-what is... going... on...” Sothis’s voice was punctured by yawns as blackness crept into Byleth’s vision. 

He didn’t feel anything even as the world tumbled and the ground rushed up to greet him. 

“Professor, are you certain you feel up to lecturing?” Manuela was fretting over him the next morning, her face a picture of professional concern and personal worry. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but your body is being taxed heavily. Your pulse is faint and irregular, not to mention that...” 

Byleth shook his head slowly, looking down at his shaking hands as he breathed deeply and filled his lungs with the bitter scent of the infirmary’s medicinal herbs and medicines. “That what, Manuela? What did you find?” 

Her face was puzzled and concerned at the same time, her gaze fixed upon Byleth’s chest. 

“You don’t have a heartbeat, but your pulse is unmistakable,” Manuela finally said. “This is baffling, to say the least.” 

Byleth frowned. “No heartbeat? But, how could that be?” 

Sothis and Nemesis were both silent, but the unusual feeling that had filled his chest last night was gone. At least he was the only one in the infirmary at the moment, aside from his caretaker. 

“I don’t know. When a couple knights dragged you in here last night, saying they’d found you passed out in the cemetery, I didn’t know what to expect,” Manuela continued, tapping her long nails against a wooden table. “Especially since your Relic was glowing brightly in your hands. Something in your chest was also glowing, although I have no idea what.” 

“What time is it?” Byleth asked, looking over at the early morning sunlight beginning to peek through the curtained windows. 

“There are two hours until lectures begin for the day, but are you absolutely certain you feel up for it?” Manuela placed a slender, well-manicured hand on his own. “If you feel anything unusual, anything at all, you get yourself right back here and wait for me. You know, if this gets worse, I might have to ask Lady Rhea to look at you...” 

There was a rumble from deep within, likely from Nemesis, but nothing else happened. Why did he hate Rhea so much? Earlier, when Byleth had received this month’s assignment, it was as if he was wrapped in chains, restraining the unfathomable rage that had smoldered and roared in the presence of the Archbishop. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Byleth pushed himself to stand, exhaling heavily to fight through the dizziness that threatened to topple him once again. “Thank you, Manuela.” 

“Anytime, Professor,” the former songstress winked. 

His feet were a little unsteady as he walked out into the corridor and made his way back to the stairs leading to the main hall. A few monks and knights called greetings, which he returned by nodding. 

He made it to the classroom with no issues, sighing heavily as he sat behind his desk and stared at the empty chairs. This month’s lectures were centered around how to build rapport with soldiers and militia that one is just introduced to when taking command. It was going to be more focused on the human interaction part of building a unit and commanding it. 

Byleth didn’t know how long he’d been there until the students began flooding by, breaking apart to enter their respective classrooms as the early bell filled the monastery with its tolling. His Black Eagles filed into the room, some chattering among themselves as they took their seats and laid out their supplies upon their desks. He was pleased to see that Flayn had arrived on time, the girl yawning as she tried to shake sleep from her drooping eyes. 

Bernadetta was the last to enter, scurrying in the back to take her corner seat away from everybody else, and Byleth waited until the bell tolled again before standing. His legs wobbled a bit, forcing him to put most of his weight on the palms pressed against the desk. It was relieving that the desk hid much of his lower body from sight. 

“Good morning, everyone, I hope you slept well,” he began, noting how Edelgard seemed to be purposely ignoring Hubert as all of her attention honed in on Byleth. 

She gave him a discrete smile and nod before opening her notes and readying her quill and inkwell. 

Well, it was time to begin. 


	4. The Remire Calamity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to try writing from Edelgard's POV this time, and I hope I did her character justice without making her come off as something she isn't.

Something was wrong with  Byleth , something serious. During lectures, he rarely moved from his desk and spent much of the time leaning on it, and his face was paler than usual at times. 

Edelgard had also heard a rumor that some knights had found him unconscious in the cemetery the night after Hubert had attempted to kill him. That thought still filled her with shame, warming her chest with embarrassment despite how fondly she thought back on the talk she’d had with her beloved professor. 

He’d called her El, and  Edelgard was almost embarrassed to think back on how happy that had made her. 

No, she shook her head to clear it: she had to talk to him, to see for herself just what was going on with him.

She made her way to the classroom, keeping her head held high and her pace brisk but not unusually so. She’d eaten her dinner as quickly as possible and excused herself, hoping that the professor had kept to his schedule and would currently be finishing up his grading or preparing for tomorrow’s lectures. 

The other students she came across were quick to get out of her way, scurrying aside to avoid being pierced by her gaze. To them, she was untouchable, terrifying. It still made her chest ache, but the loneliness was quickly beaten away as  Edelgard recalled  Byleth and his own kind words to her, his acceptance of her. 

He made this darkness tolerable. It hurt even now to consider how she’d been gathering the Black Eagles behind his back, slowly working to bring them around to her ideals, but she hoped she could soon include Byleth in her plans. If there was anyone she wanted at her side as she walked the path she would soon cut, it was him. 

And now there was  Remire Village... what were those  slithering  bastards doing now? 

“ Edelgard ?”  Byleth’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts, bringing her back to where she had stopped in front of the classroom doors.

“Ah, professor, I was hoping to talk to you,”  Edelgard managed to keep her voice steady as she collected herself. “Would you like to have some tea?” 

His face was the expressionless mask that he’d worn for so long, save for the slight curving of his lips as he nodded. “I could spare some time for you, although the curfew is going to go into effect within the next two hours.” 

“I won’t take long,”  Edelgard promised, her heart hammering within her chest as the reality of where she was going to bring him sank in. “Please, follow me.” 

She turned on her heels and started down the path that would lead to the dining hall, back the way she’d come.  Byleth easily kept pace with her, his long longs eating up the distance as the duo walked shoulder-to-shoulder between the pillars and classrooms.

“What do you think is happening in  Remire Village?” he asked after a few moments of comfortable silence.

Edelgard glanced at him from the corner of her eye, noting how he put more weight on his legs in an attempt to keep them steady. His face was gaunt, but it was difficult to see if one wasn’t well-versed to his minimal facial expressions. 

“Ah, this way,” she stopped halfway through the approach to the dining hall, where she could hear and see students finishing up their evening meals. “Please, Professor.”

Byleth frowned but obeyed, changing direction and following her into one of the two courtyards surrounding the paved path. Ordinarily, they’d have tea in the eastern courtyard, closer to the stables, but Edelgard needed somewhere more private to talk to him within. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said after they emerged in front of the student dorms and walked down the stone stairs to the lower floors. 

“I don’t know, to be honest,”  Edelgard figured it had something to do with ‘Monica’ and her filthy kind, but the girl wasn’t saying anything. 

It was infuriating. 

The duo walked in silence towards the greenhouse, where Ashe and Annette were watering the plants, and  Edelgard swallowed her nerves as she turned to the stairs leading up to second floor dormitories. 

“Hey, Professor!” a monk called out to  Byleth , who returned the greeting with a nod and a raised hand.

“Please don’t come over here,”  Edelgard silently begged, relief flooding her as the monk walked away, towards the dining hall. 

“Are we going to your room?”  Byleth asked softly as they ascended, boots clicking against  stone with each step. “Do I need to remind you how people might interpret that?” 

Heat flushed her cheeks before  Edelgard forced it down, hoping that nobody would see her blushing like a schoolgirl with her professor at her side. 

“We’re only having tea and a chat,” she assured him, ignoring how much those words were for her just as much as him. 

Thankfully, the dorm halls were empty, so nobody saw  Edelgard open the door to her room and enter it with  Byleth . She was glad that Dorothea wouldn’t see this: the girl’s fantasies would have gone out of control...

The room was clean and tidy, her bed immaculately made and her class materials stacked on her desk for tomorrow’s use. There was a small table with two chairs around it, both of which  Edelgard pulled out before turning back to her professor.

“Could you lock the door, Professor?” she knew what this sounded like, but she hoped he would understand once he actually did it.

Byleth raised an eyebrow but did as she asked, closing the door behind him and turning the lock. Almost immediately, the arcane sigils she’d labored to put into the door and walls flared to life before fading, signaling that they were in use.

“Was that a Silence rune?”  Byleth asked, his gaze roaming over the arcane marks that almost blended in with the walls. 

“Yes, it was,”  Edelgard nodded, striding over to where she’d had her kettle prepared and pouring out two cups of tea. “Now we may speak without fear of being overheard.” 

“Did you put that in after I overheard you talking in your sleep?”  Byleth asked as he sat down, the wooden legs of his chair scraping against the floor.

She saw the relief in his eyes now that he could get his weight off of his unsteady legs as she set out the saucer and cup before him and sat down across from him. 

“Yes. I couldn’t run the risk of somebody else overhearing me,”  Edelgard shook her head. “It was embarrassing enough the first time.” 

He frowned at something on the wall. “Were you the only one who’d made the sigils?”

“No. Hubert helped me, why?”  Edelgard groaned inwardly: what had he done this time? 

Byleth strode over to a part of the marks inked on the wall over her headrest and swiped his hand across part of it, the magic sparking as the sigil was wiped off. “Because that part of the rune wasn’t made for silencing: it was made for listening in.” 

“I suppose I should have seen that coming,”  Edelgard fought the urge to sigh.

Byleth gave her a sympathetic smile as he sat back down. “So, what was it that you wanted to talk about that  necessitated such secrecy?” 

She swallowed nervously, idly fingering the handle of her cup as the  tea’s aroma filled her nostrils. “W-well... Professor, what has been happening to you this month? You’re pale, unsteady, and you’re hardly eating.” 

“You noticed, did you?” he sighed, setting down his cup. “And here I thought I’d been hiding it successfully.” 

“And I’ve heard rumors that you had collapsed in the cemetery after I’d left,”  Edelgard continued, letting her worries of the past month finally flow out. “I was worried Hubert had done something to you and confronted him, but he’d denied any further action on his part.” 

“It wasn’t Hubert,”  Byleth shook his head. “I honestly don’t know what it is. Ever since I retrieved the Sword of the Creator, strange things have been happening to me.” 

“Like what?”  Edelgard tentatively took a sip of her tea, letting the warm liquid coast down her throat. “Byleth?” 

He paused, then seemed to remember that nobody outside the room could hear them. “I... I’ve been hearing a voice. Seeing dreams from the past.” 

“What kind of voice?”  Edelgard asked, leaning forward in her seat.

“A man’s voice, deep and almost ancient,”  Byleth answered, his eyes glancing off to his left for a split second.

If  Edelgard hadn’t been paying attention, she would have missed it entirely. Didn’t Hubert say something about  Byleth being in constant dialogue with something inside of him? Something with different motives and desires? 

“Is there a spirit residing in the weapon, perhaps?” she frowned. “The Crest Stone is missing, yet you can use the weapon with ease, which shouldn’t be possible. You did say you felt something guiding you during the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, yes?” 

“I don’t know, and I have to admit I wasn’t expecting you to suggest that,”  Byleth took a sip of his own tea, his eyes again glancing over to his left.

For a split second,  Edelgard could have sworn she saw something reflected in his blue gaze: something brightly colored and green.

“Forgive me, El, but I really don’t know what’s been going on,”  Byleth sighed, shaking his head. “I’m just as confused as you are.” 

There was  truth in his words, but also something he was hiding:  Edelgard had been around enough courtiers and nobles to tell when someone was lying. 

“My teacher, I want to help you, but I can’t do it if you’re not telling me everything,” she set her cup down and stared directly into his eyes. “Please, trust in me.” 

Her Crest reacted within her blood, warming her chest and sending needles through her flesh. She could almost feel something else in the room with her and  Byleth , something connected to this Crest that they both shared. 

“I do trust you, El, I really do,”  Byleth insisted, the warmth in his voice making her heart skip a beat. “But I really have no idea what is happening to me. Even Manuela was...”

He trailed off, his brow furrowing and head slightly tilting to the side as if he could hear something she could not.

“What did she say, my teacher?”  Edelgard prompted softly, confusion filling her as  Byleth’s hand shakily reached up to come to rest upon his chest. 

“She said... I don’t have a heartbeat despite having a pulse,” he said slowly, his fingers clenching over his armor. 

Edelgard hesitated. “What? But how could that be?” 

“I don’t know,”  Byleth lowered his hand and  Edelgard got to her feet to get closer to him.

“May I?” she asked softly, holding her hand out. 

“I... yes,” he nodded.

Edelgard gently pressed her hand against her professor’s chest, immediately feeling his lungs expanding and contracting with the rhythm of his breathing. She moved her hand over where his heart should be, a spark of energy rippling through her fingers. 

Her Crest burned hotter inside of her, and  Edelgard’s instincts screamed at her to withdraw her hand, to cease this contact before something happened.

There was no heartbeat.

“What do you think you’re doing, you befuddled mortal?!” A girl’s voice made her jump back with a scream ripping from her throat,  Byleth jumping as well. 

“El?! What happened?!” he was on his feet immediately, his hands gently taking  ahold of her arms. 

The moment his body came back into contact with hers,  Edelgard’s body heated up once again. 

“What is going on with that one?” the unknown girl’s voice again filled her ears, making  Edelgard’s heart leap into her throat as her head swiveled to find the source.

And she did: a young girl with long green hair and an unusual dress was hovering to the left of  Byleth , where he’d been glancing.

“Who is that?”  Edelgard asked, and the girl’s brilliant emerald eyes widened.

“Who is what?”  Byleth looked at the girl as well, the two of them sharing an odd look.

“That girl,”  Edelgard pointed directly at her. “The one floating there.” 

Byleth let go of her arms and the girl vanished, his ashen composure alight with shock as he eased himself into the chair. “You can see her?” 

Edelgard swallowed her nerves. “Not anymore,  Byleth . She vanished the moment you stopped touching me. Who is that?” 

“I... how can...”  Byleth shook his head slowly, an internal debate raging within his eyes. 

“Professor?”  Edelgard needed answers, needed to know what was happening here, and so she held her hand out to him yet again. 

Byleth made a decision, his eyes steeled as he reached up and interlaced their hands. Almost immediately, that strange girl reappeared where she’d been hovering before, her eyes suspicious and wary as she stared at Edelgard. 

“Can you see her?”  Byleth asked.

“I can,”  Edelgard answered, the soft fabric of her glove wrapping more firmly around her flesh as  Byleth’s hold tightened on her hand. “Who is she?”

The girl’s expression soured. “How rude! You lack the manners to ask me, myself, do you? I had expected more from this dunce’s favorite student.” 

“Hey,”  Byleth grumbled, not meeting  Edelgard’s eyes as she looked at him. 

She was his favorite? The thought made her far happier than it should have.

“My apologies,”  Edelgard bowed as best as she could manage without breaking contact with her professor, her Crest’s warmth spreading through every vein in her body. “What is your name, my lady?” 

Pride flared in the girl’s eyes as she lifted her chin, a cheeky smile being directed at  Byleth . “I am Sothis.”

Edelgard’s heart dropped to the floor, her legs suddenly feeling weak. “Did you just say ‘Sothis’?” 

Byleth and the girl shared a confused look. “Yes, why?”

Was he really that ignorant to the teachings of the Church? 

“ Sothis is the name of the Goddess,”  Edelgard said slowly, both of her companions sharing a dumbstruck glance. 

“I... what?”  Sothis gasped, looking as if she were about to hit the ground. “How could it be that I share a name with the Goddess of this world?”

Did she not know, either?! 

“We’ve never heard the Goddess’s name, before,”  Byleth explained, the shock in his voice drawing  Edelgard’s eyes back to him. “And neither of us know much of anything about our past.” 

Sothis floated closer, her face screwed into a face of deep concentration as she folded her arms and muttered to herself. 

“Your father worked here before you were born, didn’t he?”  Edelgard asked, her mind racing as she tried to put the pieces together. “But he left after a mysterious fire broke out in the monastery.” 

“That was before I was born,”  Byleth said, his fingers shaking in her own grasp. “I... I think?” 

“It was said that a baby had died in the fire, although its remains were never found,”  Edelgard remembered. “The knights said that Rhea had been... Rhea.” 

“What about her?”  Sothis asked, her green irises and hair a stark reflection of the archbishop.

“Do you think she knows about  Sothis ?”  Edelgard asked. “It would explain why she’s so attached to you and why she insisted on giving you a teaching position here.” 

“You think she did something to me?”  Byleth asked, his other hand going to his still heart.

“The Crest Stone,”  Edelgard realized. “You can use the Sword of the Creator even though the Crest Stone is missing, yet something is in your chest, preventing your heart from beating.” 

“I feel you’re on the right track,”  Sothis said softly, shaking her head, placing a tiny hand over her own chest. “Yet I cannot... my mind...” 

Edelgard reached out with her free hand, the warmth flooding her body almost too much to bear as she gently pressed her palm over her professor’s heart, and the surge of energy nearly knocked her off of her feet. She could sense something inside, something that reacted strongly to her own Crest of Flames. 

Sothis gasped and clutched at her chest. “This feeling! What... your chest!” 

Edelgard pulled her hand away, her jaw dropping as she stared at the small Crest of Flames that was now glowing on her professor’s chest. 

“The Crest Stone is in your chest,” she realized. “Why? Why did Rhea implant it within you?” 

“We don’t know if it was Rhea,”  Byleth frowned, perhaps trying to rationalize it. 

Edelgard’s hatred of the Archbishop and her church of lies only intensified, and she fought to keep a straight face as her professor’s Crest dimmed and faded. “Who else would it be? If the Crest Stone had  Sothis slumbering within it, why did Rhea implant it within  you, of all people?”

And then the answer dawned on her, icy rage spilling into  Edelgard’s veins as the only possibility made her heart tremble with hate. 

“A vessel,” her voice was a whisper. “She wanted to use you as a vessel for the Goddess.”

“What? How could that-”  Byleth paused, glancing at  Sothis from where she stared at him. “Sothis?” 

“I feel as if I have been in other vessels, yet none allowed me to see the world in the way you have,” the Goddess mused, a small smile forming on her lips. “I wonder what is so special about you that has allowed me to experience all of this? Although I do not have a body of my own, I know that I do not want to deprive you of yours. Even if Rhea tried to have me claim it, I would refuse.” 

“Are you so certain about that?”  Edelgard asked, gripping her professor’s hand more tightly as she stepped closer to him. “I will not allow you to take him from me.” 

Sothis’s smile  faltered. “I have no desire for his body,  Edelgard , I swear it. I don’t want him to... to disappear for my sake.” 

The pain in her voice sounded genuine, but  Edelgard was loathe to trust the being whose very existence was the reason that this damn Church had its claws in the entire nation. 

“I have no desire to destroy the life of the man I spend so much power rewinding the flow of time for,”  Sothis griped, pouting as she stared at  Edelgard . 

The words made her splutter. “I’m sorry: rewinding the flow of time?” 

Byleth nodded when she looked at him. “Remember when we first met: when I disarmed that bandit who was attacking you? That was only because  Sothis reversed time to allow me to do that. The first time through, I only pushed you out of the way and took the axe, myself, but  Sothis saved me.” 

“Yes, because you didn’t yet know the value of your life! You would have died if not for me, and that wasn’t even the first time!” the Goddess declared. 

Edelgard remembered that, remembered how shocked she’d been to see this mercenary run up and casually disarm the bandit threatening her life. “How often have you used that power?” 

“Only when someone was about to get seriously hurt or killed on the battlefield,”  Byleth answered, his voice growing softer. “Especially if it was you.”

Edelgard averted her gaze, not wanting her flushed cheeks to be on full display. “T-then it appears I owe you for far more than I initially thought.” 

“Honestly, I’m just cheating, but I’d do it however often as possible for you guys,”  Byleth chuckled. 

Sothis scoffed. “And you do. Honestly, the amount of times you rewound time during a tea party or conversation with your students to keep them happy never ceases to amaze me. Especially this one.” 

“ Sothis , please be quiet,”  Byleth muttered. 

Edelgard couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of her throat. “So, that’s how you always seemed to know exactly what to say.” 

“And I pay attention to the likes and dislikes of my students,”  Byleth said, although he didn’t take his hand away. “What do we do now?”

Any merriment died where it was, and  Edelgard reached into the rage churning through her veins. Part of her wanted to take her axe and storm into the Archbishop’s chambers, demanding just what that bitch was planning on doing to her beloved professor, but  Seteth or Catherine wouldn’t let her get anywhere near Rhea, not to mention the rest of the Church’s army. No, they would have to go along with whatever she wanted until an opportunity arose to strike at her. Just like she had already planned.

Maybe they could find answers elsewhere in the meantime? 

“We take care of the missions until we find answers,”  Edelgard proposed, lightly squeezing her professor’s hand. “I will do everything in my power to find just what is going on here, I swear it!” 

His face melted into a warm, genuine smile that bypassed all of her defenses and made her heart skip for miles. “Thank you, El. I’ll do everything I can to support you and everyone, in the meantime.” 

“I look forward to it, my teacher,” she managed to keep her voice steady. “I hope you have a good night.”

“You too,”  Byleth took his hand out of hers and  Sothis disappeared. “Sleep well, El.” 

Part of her wanted to groan, the other half loved how it sounded from his lips. 

Her professor unlocked the door and opened it, defusing the Silence rune, then ducked out into the corridor before shutting the door behind him.  Edelgard put her kettle away and then seated herself on her bed, exhaling slowly as she digested everything that she had just learned. 

“Rhea... just what are you planning to do?” she wondered, allowing that rage to fill her once again. 

Her hand was still warm from where  Byleth had been holding it, and  Edelgard found herself missing the contact. 

“No, damn it,” she whispered. “I am not going to be some lovestruck schoolgirl!” 

Her heart, it appeared, had different ideas, but at least she could focus on the mission to reorganize her priorities. How bad could it be? 

Edelgard wanted to slap her carefree self as she took in the horrific debacle running rampant through  Remire Village. Buildings were aflame and villagers with white eyes and grossly pulsating veins lining their bodies were butchering everyone in sight. 

“Go! Save as many lives as possible!” came the professor’s orders, which  Edelgard was all too happy to obey. 

The Black Eagles plunged into the fray,  Edelgard sticking close to  Byleth as he moved through the flames and madness, knocking out rabid villagers everywhere they went. A few sane villagers were crying for help amongst the smoke and ash, beacons that drew the Eagles in to save them. 

“Kill! Kill!” a mad villager tried to leap on  Edelgard’s back, but her armor blunted his attack with ease. 

She jerked her elbow back to throw her attacker, yet he clung to her shoulder like an incessant burr. Or Hubert. 

“Get off!” she snarled as she thrashed to and fro, desperate to dislodge the madman dangling from her shoulders. 

“Edelgard!” Caspar’s fists came flying out of nowhere, bombarding the unfortunate soul until he tumbled to the ground. “The Death Knight’s here! The Professor is engaging him!”

Her heart leaped into her throat: that creature had orders not to kill  Byleth , but she trusted him to uphold those orders in a way she trusted Hubert to not meddle in her affairs. That is to say, not at all. And she’d lost sight of  Byleth while dealing with that villager! 

“Then we must support him and move on Tomas, or Solon, or whatever his name is from the west!”  Edelgard declared. “Have we evacuated the sane villagers?” 

“ Flayn’s been using this spell to get them to the entrance while Ferdinand is helping  Jeralt and the other Knights of  Seiros shield them,” Caspar ran at her side as the duo moved through the burning village.

Thick smoke choked the air, cinders and embers falling like rain alongside the ash and dusting the corpses filling the streets. The stench of death made her want to retch, mingling with the horrific smell of burning flesh. 

Thales and the rest of his ilk were going to pay for this! Starting with Solon! 

The heat was unbearable, especially with the heavy armor covering her body as she stomped through the mud, rubble, and burning remains.  Edelgard and Caspar made it to a raised portion of the village filled with trees just in time to watch  Byleth’s Relic slam into the familiar form of the Death Knight. 

Man and mount skidded backwards from the force of the blow, the Death Knight’s scarf in tatters as he hefted his scythe and glared at the object of his fascination. 

“To kill... to die... to know one without the other is madness,” his helm-distorted voice made  Edelgard roll her eyes as she dashed forward, taking in the corpses of the soldiers who’d been accompanying the Death Knight.

Byleth ducked beneath a swing of the scythe and lashed out with his Relic, the sword extending as it curved towards its target. The Death Knight spurred his mount forward, perhaps intending to run  Byleth down, but the professor didn’t move.

“ Byleth !”  Edelgard poured all of her strength into her sprint forward, Caspar spluttering as he raced to catch up. 

Byleth gave her a side glance, grinned, and then jerked the Sword of the Creator back. The Relic’s extended blade whipped backwards with blinding speed, spitting sparks and red energy as it slammed into the Death Knight’s back and threw him from his mount with the shrieking of metal on metal. 

The Death Knight hit the ground rolling and jumped back to his feet just in time for the Sword of the Creator to slam into his scythe and knock it from his grasp.  Byleth pivoted on his feet, slamming an armored boot into the Death Knight’s chest and sending him reeling backwards. 

“No... this game will not end here,” the monster looked at  Edelgard and huffed before he teleported away, taking his steed and weapon with him. 

The Sword of the Creator pierced the air where he’d just been,  Byleth sighing as the weapon snapped back together. 

“Damn, I almost had him,” the professor’s face was slick with sweat and grime, smeared with ash and blood, but he still smiled at  Edelgard as she stomped to his side. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, looking at the dead soldiers lying around him. “Where are your troops?” 

“Likely where yours are: shielding the villagers from themselves with my father,”  Byleth looked eastwards, where Solon was waiting in front of a windmill and a storehouse. “I was concerned when he said we had to leave so soon, but I wasn’t expecting it to be this bad...” 

“That was awesome, Professor!” Caspar laughed as he finally caught up. “See,  Edelgard ? You didn’t have to worry!” 

“You alright, Caspar? You seem a little winded,”  Byleth frowned at the ash and blood-smeared boy, who pumped his fists excitedly and grinned despite the tears that had been ripped into his Brigand’s hauberk. 

“I’m good! Let’s find the dastard responsible for this and beat them into the ground!” 

Byleth’s expression darkened, a reflection of  Edelgard’s own emotions as he nodded. 

“We’re with you, my teacher,” she promised, and the trio pushed through the trees lining their route to Solon. 

Branches scraped against  Edelgard’s armor and shield, smacking across her face and tugging at her limbs until she eventually realized that  Byleth and Caspar had already left her behind. She reached into her pouch, found the warp powder that Hubert had made her, and willed it to take her outside the village. 

The world bent and rippled, pulling her through the fabrics of reality until she found herself standing just outside of  Remire Village.

“Hubert?” she called out carefully, not wanting to have a villager stumble across her.

“Here, Lady Edelgard,” her faithful, if not irritating, vassal emerged from cover, her black Flame Emperor armor laid out neatly on a stump beside him. “Are you ready?”

She could hear Solon fighting  Byleth and the others back in the village as she peeled off her heavy plate and replaced it with the heavier black and red of the Flame Emperor armor. It dug into her shoulders as it always did, but she ignored it as she picked up the helmet and slid it into place. That red crest was ridiculous, as was the mask, but they served a purpose: to conceal her from those she cared about. 

Hubert set the mask across the helmet, her eyes immediately adjusting to the narrow eyeholes. 

“Let’s go,” she murmured, pushing herself to move in these blasted, restrictive robes as Hubert quickly hurried off to not be seen with her. 

She could hear  Byleth and his father talking not too far away, the older man making plain his disgust at what happened. 

“Because of them, the people of Remire Village...” 

She turned a corner and saw the two men standing there, her gaze honing in onto her professor’s downcast, pain-filled gaze.  Edelgard pushed her feelings aside and strode forward, the robes making her feel as if she were standing in a furnace. 

“There you are,” she spoke, the mask distorting her voice as always as she strode up to the two men.

Their eyes locked onto hers,  Byleth crouching and reaching for the Relic at his waist. 

“That armor. So, you’re the Flame Emperor,”  Jeralt growled, his eyes blazing. 

She nodded. “Yes. I believe you have met my subordinate, the Death Knight.” 

“Oh, we’ve met all right,”  Jeralt growled. “But back to you. You’re the one responsible for the destruction of this village.” 

“Do not get the wrong idea,” she answered immediately, biting her tongue to keep from speaking further.

Jeralt’s grip tightened on the lance he held. “What in blazes does that mean?” 

“It is true that I am working with Solon. But that does not mean our objectives are the same. Had I known they planned to do this, I would have stopped it. You have my word.” 

“Your words are meaningless. Now, I’ll have to insist that you accompany us back to the monastery,”  Jeralt lifted his weapon, aiming the tip at the Flame Emperor. 

“I cannot abide that. However, if you wish to join forces, I will hear your plea,” it was a long shot, but she had to try. 

The Blade Breaker blanched. “What?!” 

“If left to their own devices, they will commit countless more violent acts like this one,”  Edelgard continued. “Do you not wish to prevent this?”

She shot a longing gaze at her teacher, the rage smoldering in his eyes almost making her drop the act altogether and to spill everything she knew. No! Focus!

“With the Sword of the Creator on our side, Solon would not be a threat...” she tried to sound convincing, coercing, but it was difficult with this blasted mask! 

Some part of her hoped he would accept, but it still hurt when  Byleth shook his head and drew his sword. 

“Pity. Though not unexpected,” these next words threatened to rip her heart from her chest. “Pray that you do not live to regret your choice.” 

Hubert dashed up on cue, his voice distracting the two mercenaries long enough for  Edelgard to teleport away. She was back outside the village, ripping off the Flame Emperor’s armor and trying not to choke on the ashen air that tasted of death. 

“Professor... I would love nothing more than to have you join me,” she murmured, tossing her disguise somewhere Hubert or one of her other soldiers would retrieve it while she slung her Church-gifted plate back onto her body. “I will do everything I can for you, I swear it.”

She ran through the woods, putting as much distance between her and her discarded disguise as she could lest someone actually discover her. After a few minutes, she saw  Jeralt and  Byleth standing at the head of the village, watching as their soldiers escorted the surviving villagers from the smoldering wreckage of their home. 

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to talk to you,”  Jeralt rumbled, his voice making  Edelgard pause in her attempt to go right up to the two men. “Since coming to the monastery, you’ve changed.” 

“Changed?”  Byleth asked, his face the familiar ashen mask. 

“You’ve been angry since we first arrived in  Remire Village, and you look so happy when you’re instructing the brats,”  Jeralt said, his casual naming of  Edelgard as a brat making her scowl. “Before the monastery, I’ve never seen you bear your emotions like that. Not once.”

Byleth paused, considering his answer as his gaze flitted to where  Edelgard was watching. “It’s thanks to the students.” 

His smile warmed her heart and curved her own lips upwards, and she fought the urge to walk forward to speak to them. 

“Then perhaps it’s a good thing we came to the monastery, if only so I could see your face lit up like that,”  Jeralt mused, placing his hands on his hips and gazing at the villagers. “Or maybe there was never any reason for us to leave the monastery in the first place...”

Wait, in the first place? Were  Edelgard’s suspicions correct? Was  Byleth that baby that was thought to have died in the fire? 

“Wasn’t I born after you left the monastery?”  Byleth asked, and the old man grimaced.

“Ah... I’ve put my foot in my mouth, haven’t I? Though, I suppose it may be nearly that time...” his gaze lifted to his son. “Come to my office when you next have a moment to spare. There’s something I need to tell you.” 

Byleth nodded, and his father walked away to lend his aid to the villagers.

“Professor,”  Edelgard finally stepped forward after  Jeralt was out of earshot. “I don’t know if this is appropriate to say, but... admirable work out there. I really believe we did all we could.” 

His face fell, which tugged her heart yet again. “I wasn’t strong enough.” 

“No mortal is all-powerful,”  Edelgard reached out and placed her hand on his arm, glancing around to see if  Sothis was present. “We must try to stay positive, even  through the horror.”

The Goddess was nowhere to be found, but the warmth that filled  Edelgard’s veins made  Byleth’s chest pulse just for a moment as he nodded.

“I hear the so-called ‘Flame Emperor’ appeared in  Remire Village as well,” she commented. “Did you speak with him?” 

Byleth nodded grimly. “He wanted me to join forces with him.”

Edelgard feigned surprise, frowning as she pretended to think about it. “Really? Is that what you want, Professor?” 

Byleth shook his head, and her heart ached yet again even as she forced herself to speak. “That makes sense. It’s hard to trust someone without knowing who they are or how they’re connected to all this. Even if he wants you as an ally, his objectives are still unclear.” 

To you, my teacher. 

“If the Flame Emperor truly wishes to make use of your power... Perhaps someday he will appear before you without his mask, and you can look into his eyes and decide what you believe,”  Edelgard fought to keep her voice steady, even though what she was speaking of was occurring right then and there. 

“We’ll see,”  Byleth shrugged, and  Edelgard withdrew her hand to let the warmth of their Crests vanish. “Are you okay, El?” 

She glanced around to make sure nobody overheard him. “I’m fine, and you? You fought wonderfully against the Death Knight.” 

“I’m fine, although Solon did manage to land a hit with his magic,”  Byleth absently placed a hand on his abdomen. “ Flayn and Dorothea patched me up as quickly as they could.” 

Edelgard released a relieved breath. “I’m glad you’re safe,  Byleth .” 

He smiled again. “Thank you. Now, shall we get these people back to the monastery?” 

“Let’s, my teacher.” 

The two walked off to join the rest, their shoulders occasionally brushing in comfortable silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, secrets!


	5. Secrets

“You did well handling that awful business in Remire Village, Professor,” Rhea said, clasping her hands together in silent prayer. “I am certain the Goddess shares in our grief at the senselessness of that calamity.” 

Sothis stirred within, the anger and confusion emanating from her almost cracking the stony visage of her host. Even worse was the smoldering rage and hate that was gushing from Nemesis, which was tinting the world red and yellow. 

“More importantly, I was shocked to hear that our own Tomas was actually a dark mage. I must reflect on our blindness,” Rhea continued, and only then did Sothis’s voice come through. 

“You surely must! You failed to notice that a rat was hiding in your home. Pathetic!” the Goddess’s scathing words showed absolutely no mercy to her devoted follower. “Who are these wicked foes? How did Tomas escape your gaze?” 

“Do you know who these villains are?” Byleth pushed through the voice in his head. 

Seteth shook his head. “Tomas came to the monastery 40 years ago, by recommendation of House Ordelia of the Alliance. Around eight years ago he went back to House Ordelia before returning to the monastery once again just last year. After having worked at Garreg Mach for decades, why would he betray us now? Just what did he hope to accomplish?” 

The man continued talking, but it wasn’t his voice that came through. 

“You want answers, boy? You want to know about those creatures who slither around in the darkness of Fodlan?” Nemesis’s rage was enough to make Byleth’s head pound and ache. “She won’t tell you. Not so long as she wants you to be her slave.” 

“A threat to Fodlan’s peace?” Sothis spoke up, apparently not able to hear Nemesis. “That means we have no choice: we must stop them all!” 

“We must stop them,” Byleth repeated, unaware he was even speaking aloud until Rhea’s warm smile was directed at him. 

“I have truly come to rely on you. I believe that the monastery will remain safe so long as we have you. We do not yet know the enemy’s objective or whereabouts. For now, please devote yourself to preparing for whatever comes next,” Rhea finished, and Seteth dismissed him. 

While the loyal man walked away, Byleth stopped as Rhea called for him again. 

“What does this wretch want?” Nemesis growled. “Hasn’t she dug her claws into enough of Fodlan?” 

“May the Goddess Sothis protect you,” Rhea’s last words were the only thing Byleth had been able to make out. 

He bowed to her. “Thank you, Lady Rhea.” 

With that done, Byleth excused himself and walked away, the Archbishop’s guards shutting the door behind him once he’d entered. The rage of the other one within never abated, but he fought through. 

“You still haven’t answered me,” Nemesis growled. “Do you want to know what the Church is hiding from you?” 

“Calm down first, and then I might ask,” Byleth hissed through the haze. “Why do you hate her so much?” 

Nemesis rumbled for a moment, then sighed. “She reminds me of Seiros: looks exactly like her. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise me if she actually was Seiros, since her kind are known to have lifespans far beyond those of regular mortals.” 

The haze lessened enough to allow Byleth to make his way through the monastery. Rhea hadn’t given him this month’s mission yet, but he doubted she was going to wait long before summoning him again. 

But first... 

“Rhea could be Seiros?” Byleth kept his voice so low that it would be impossible for someone else to hear him, wondering if he could just mentally communicate with the dead king in his head. “And what did you mean by ‘her kind’?” 

“The children of the Goddess,” Nemesis answered. “Those deluded, disgusting creatures who thought they had the right to enslave and rule over all of Fodlan just because their mother was a being with unrivaled power.” 

“The children of the Goddess...” Sothis’s children? 

“I worked with an ancient tribe of people who’d been driven underground during a war with the Goddess and her followers to break into the Holy Tomb and steal the remains of Sothis,” Nemesis continued. “They told me they could make weapons from the bones and hearts of Sothis and her fallen kin.” 

“Weapons?” then it hit him. “Do you mean the Hero’s Relics and their Crest Stones?” 

“You’re smarter than you look,” Nemesis said, grudging respect in his voice. “Then again, I can sense that you have Sothis’s heart implanted in your chest, so perhaps you already knew.” 

“And the Sword of the Creator?” even the name was making the truth start to dawn on him. “Is it made from... Sothis’s bones?” 

“Correct. I brought the bones and hearts to the Agarthans, who used their unusual magic and technology to forge weapons stronger than any ever made by mortal hands,” Nemesis affirmed. “Granted, they made far more Crest Stones than weapons, especially after Zanado...” 

“The Red Canyon?” Byleth frowned, his gaze roaming over all the students and wanderers who were passing by. 

Nobody was giving him strange looks for talking to himself, although he did get a nice view of Sylvain being on the receiving end of a vicious slap from another student. Part of him did sympathize with the boy, given that Sylvain had had girls approaching him solely for the opportunity to bear a Crest-bearing child, but this kind of behavior was unacceptable. 

“It wasn’t called that until after I put the children of the goddess to the sword,” Nemesis gave an ominous chuckle. “A sword crafted from the remains of their own mother. Seems fitting that what gave them life ended up snuffing it out.” 

“But a few survived,” Byleth pointed out, wondering if Sothis was listening to all of this. 

“For now,” came the ancient king’s ominous words. “I have had a millennium to learn from my mistakes, to temper my pride so as to not underestimate my enemy again. I was too arrogant, too certain of my own power, and I allowed Seiros to get the better of me.” 

Byleth wound his way through the gaggles of the other students that filled the monastery, taking a moment to appreciate that he only had to teach the upper echelons of the Black Eagles. Trying to manage dozens of students all at once or more would have been impossible for a mercenary who was just thrust into a teaching position just months beforehand. 

Part of him still wondered if it had been a good idea for him to become a professor: he was only a mercenary teaching young men and women how to kill and survive on the battlefield. Almost everything else he taught them, from siege warfare to learning how to best utilize the more technical parts of fortifications and castles, all came from books in the library that he’d crammed into his head just days before the lecture. 

“What do you want us to do?” Byleth made his way to his quarters, where he could at least talk to the dead-not-dead king with minimal concern of being overheard. 

“It’s not up to me anymore, boy,” Nemesis answered. “This is your body: I’m merely a guest in it. Although I swear I can feel someone else here... in the heart.” 

So, neither Nemesis nor Sothis were aware of the other’s existence within Byleth, although he suspected that Sothis did have some sense of acknowledgement of the King of Liberation’s presence. 

“Is it... her?” Nemesis asked as Byleth finally ducked into his chambers. “Is it Seiros?” 

“Seiros?” Even Byleth was taken aback by Nemesis’s thoughts. 

“Is who Seiros?” Sothis was immediately visible, hovering in the corner as she was wont to do. 

Byleth opened his mouth to respond, but his words died in his throat at the emergence of the second figure who was now taking up ethereal space in his chambers. 

“Who the hell are you?” the titanic, muscular form of the King of Liberation was scowling down at Sothis, his bulging muscles lined with vicious scars. 

“Who are you?” Sothis retorted, floating possessively over to Byleth and planting her ethereal body atop his head. “This mortal’s head is my home, I must say. Not yours.” 

“How are both of you here at the same time?” Byleth asked, both heads turning to stare at him, although Sothis had to peer down. “And why only here?” 

“I take it this is Nemesis?” Sothis lifted her gaze to the battle-scarred warlord. “You look like you do in the dreams, just without the blood.” 

“You are not Seiros,” was all Nemsis grunted. 

“Obviously I am not!” Sothis griped, scowling at the man who could meet her gaze even from where she hovered on Byleth. “I am Sothis!” 

Byleth’s suggestion that she not tell her name to the man responsible for stealing her remains and forging them into a weapon to murder her kin died on his lips. Nemesis stiffened, his jaw tightening as his smoldering yellow eyes narrowed. 

“You are Sothis? The Beginning?” he repeated, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “The one responsible for all of our troubles?” 

“Your troubles?” Sothis demanded, her voice rising in pitch along with her indignation. “What exactly have I done to create these troubles of yours?” 

Nemesis’s glare intensified. “Do you really not remember? Your children are responsible for ripping Fodlan apart and spreading this nonsense of a faith across the eyes of the people.” 

“To be fair: she was dead when the Church spread across Fodlan,” Byleth pointed out. “And she just called Seiros pathetic for not seeing that Tomas was a dark mage.” 

“All I wanted was to protect this land and its people,” Sothis’s voice was oddly subdued, her weariness heavy in Byleth’s chest. “I never wanted any of this to happen, especially not in my name.” 

Nemesis had paused, his narrowed eyes still smoldering but with less intensity. “On that we can agree, but I will never forgive how your kind swept across my home, enslaving those who would kneel while murdering those who wouldn’t.” 

Sothis nodded grimly. “I know the Church was ruthless in putting down those who defy its doctrine...but I never approved of it.” 

“You couldn’t have done anything to stop it, anyway,” Byleth spoke up. “You were asleep until a few months ago, when I first met the students.” 

“Only a few months... the same as me,” Nemesis rumbled, his hostility draining just a little bit more. “Hmph. We shall speak later, boy.” 

The King of Liberation vanished, his presence going dormant within Byleth. 

“My, my, what a curious one!” Sothis mused. “I cannot feel a bit... guilty for everything, even though I am not directly responsible for it.” 

Byleth glanced up at the little Goddess hovering on his head, her face downcast and her sorrow filling his chest. “Do you want one of those stuffed bears? I know you were saying they were cute a few weeks ago.” 

“I am not a child!” Sothis screamed, her face reddening. “And what would I do with it, anyway? I have no body!” 

“I could just keep it here for you to sleep with,” Byleth offered. “If someone comes in and finds it, I could just say it was a gift from a friend.” 

Sothis glared at him, putting her hands on her hips. “If you mean to use it as an offering to me, then I suppose I could do you the honor of accepting it. Please have it by tomorrow.” 

“Deal.” 

“Keep it up! Caspar, don’t just recklessly flail around like that! You know better!” Byleth’s commands filled the training yard as the eight students of the Black Eagles clashed in mock combat with one another in order to hone their abilities further. 

Edelgard clutched her wooden blade in a practiced grip, narrowing her eyes at the axe Ferdinand was holding as he slung it onto his shoulders. 

“Prepare yourself, Edelgard!” the noble nuisance declared. “I will defeat you this day, and my superiority shall be plain for all to see!” 

Sweat was running in rivulets down her face, but her lungs were strong and steady after each breath she took. Her muscles ached from exertion, but it was nothing compared to when Byleth had first started training them. The Black Eagles had endured combat training and learned practical skills, of course, but it was a far cry compared to the experience of a battle-hardened mercenary. 

Byleth had challenged them to attack him all at once the first day they’d sparred, and Edelgard would admit that she and the others had been hopelessly out of their league against their experienced professor. 

“Take this!” Caspar’s training gauntlets clacked against Petra’s lance as the two danced back and forth, covered in dirt and bruises from where they’d scored hits or knocked the other to the ground. 

Ferdinand lunged, taking the haft of his weapon into both hands and bringing it around in a brutal horizontal hack. Edelgard shifted her weight and stepped back to avoid the attack, then lunged at her opponent with her wooden blade. Ferdinand tried to twist his body to escape, but Edelgard was too fast. 

Her wooden blade slammed into the side of her opponent’s torso, cracking against his ribs and drawing a pained grunt from him. They both jumped back to create space between them, although Ferdinand lowered a hand to his injured side and winced as he attempted to acclimate. 

“Nice jab, Edelgard,” Byleth’s monotonous voice somehow filled the air, drawing her attention to her professor for a split second. “Dorothea, you don’t need to keep healing after someone’s wound has closed: reserve your magical power, or you may find yourself wishing you had.” 

He was walking through the training grounds with a slow but steady gait, his blue eyes blank and emotionless yet keen and sharp. He was seeing everything. 

“Why do I have to learn how to throw fire, Professor?” Linhardt asked, his complaint followed by a pained yelp from the sleepy nobleman. 

“That’s why. Hubert, we’re not trying to impale each other on those lances, you know.” 

The dark mage laughed humorlessly, drawing another terrified squeak from Bernadetta. 

“I don’t want to do this!” the girl wailed, her own wooden lance stuck in the torso of a straw dummy fitted with leather padding. 

“Bernie, we’ve been over this before: you need to learn how to defend yourself at close range,” the Professor’s voice was gentler whenever he addressed the anxiety-ridden girl, but only slightly. “You’ve been doing well, but you need to train.” 

Calling her by Dorothea’s nickname had done wonders in getting her to calm down around him. Edelgard remembered how terrified Bernadetta had been during the first couple months, having to drag the poor girl to lectures to ensure she wouldn’t fall behind, all while Bernadetta wailed and screamed about how she didn’t want Byleth to kill her. 

“Ha!” Ferdinand lunged while Edelgard was distracted, but her senses warned her of the oncoming danger. 

The princess sidestepped the one-handed overhead chop, then stomped her foot onto the axe as it hit the ground to knock it from Ferdinand’s grasp. Wood clattered against stone as the weapon skittered away, followed by Ferdinand’s pained yelp as Edelgard jabbed him in the vitals with her own training blade. 

“Keep your focus on the battle: even a single second’s distraction can mean your death,” Byleth called out. “Ferdinand: don’t focus on just using the head of the axe. The haft can be just as deadly or debilitating if used right.” 

Edelgard relaxed, inhaling deeply to fill her lungs as she took a moment to appreciate just how far the Black Eagles had come. When they’d first begun training under Byleth, he’d been able to outlast and outperform them on the battlefield in leaps and bounds. The students had been trained, yes, but they were by no means conditioned or experienced warriors. 

She still remembered being sore for days after rigorous training involving sparring, running, and carrying heavy objects for hours until her body had been on the verge of collapse. It had been brutal, to be sure, but it had worked out in the end. She had grown used to dragging a leaden body covered in bruises and aching everywhere to bed and almost collapsing upon it before changing. Edelgard didn’t want her sheets to be covered in dirt and dried blood, after all. 

It had been exceedingly difficult to balance studying and training at first, but she’d risen to the challenge and conquered it, as was expected of her. None of the students had been able to get the better of Byleth in a training match, however, even when they all went at him at once. There had been many close calls, yet their professor remained just out of reach. Part of it excited her: he was another obstacle that spurred her forward, goading her to reach ever higher in her march onwards. How much longer would it be before she surpassed him, if ever? 

“Hubert, relax your grip on the lance a bit. Don’t give me that look,” Byleth continued rattling off instructions in that same emotionless voice, in full professor mode as he moved among the students. 

During lectures or training, he never smiled or showed any sort of emotion, although Edelgard supposed such displays were few and far between. He did seem to be freer with such expressions around her, however, and Edelgard wasn’t sure what that meant regarding the two of them. 

“Petra, Caspar, that’s enough! I swear the two of you are trying to beat each other’s brains out.” 

“How would we be beating the other’s brain?” Petra asked, her breathing heavy. “I am not understanding that phrase, Professor.” 

“You’re not literally beating each other until the other’s brain comes out, Petra. It means I’m concerned that you may take it too far,” Byleth replied. 

An explosion made all present jump, the flash and burst of smoke coming from none another than Linhardt, whose face was now blackened while strands of his hair smoldered. 

“That is why you need to focus, Linhardt,” their professor sighed. “Dorothea, time to put your training to use.” 

Dorothea rushed over to Linhardt and once again began pushing white magic into him, having taken on the role of a healer alongside the sleepy mage. Edelgard could sympathize with her professor’s decision: Linhardt was better than he had been at first but was still lacking in motivation and couldn’t be trusted to heal everyone on his own. 

All in all, the Black Eagles weren’t perfect, but they were far better than they had been before Byleth had taken on his role as their teacher. They owed it all to him, and to their own determination and dedication. 

The bell tolled, filling the monastery with its melodic chimes. 

“Training’s over for today: get some rest and don’t forget about your assignments,” Byleth declared, his gaze going to Caspar. “Understand?” 

A chorus of affirmatives echoed from the class, and Byleth started gathering the other practice weapons to put them away. 

“Professor, go ahead and leave cleaning up the training grounds to us,” Edelgard hurried over to his side and began to take the wooden weapons into her own arms. “Please, leave this to us.” 

Byleth paused, clearly intending to remain and finish up despite her request. “Are you certain?” 

“Yes,” Edelgard nodded, glancing to where the others were already doing as she’d requested before lowering her voice. “Get some rest, my teacher. You look better than before, but I can tell that you’re still unsteady.” 

His stony visage was cracked by a tiny smile: just the merest curving of his lips. 

“Alright. Good work today, everyone!” Byleth walked out of the training grounds after placing the wooden weapons he held in their racks, the large doors closing behind him and leaving the Black Eagles utterly alone in the facility. 

Edelgard did a quick survey of the room and the rafters, making absolutely certain nobody could be eavesdropping before she turned to her classmates. “Everyone, listen up.” 

They stopped what they were doing and gathered around her, faces ranging from tired, to bored, to apprehensive as their eyes focused on their future emperor. 

“What is it?” Caspar asked. “Oh! Are we planning again?” 

“Caspar, be having discreteness,” Petra chided. 

“Please, shout our plans to the heavens, why don’t you,” Linhardt muttered, yawning despite his soot-blackened skin and smoking strands of hair. 

Edelgard cleared her throat to make the oncoming bickering halt in its tracks. “Focus, all of you. Now, does everyone remember what I’ve told them?” 

“The Church has been lying to everyone for centuries and is planning to do something awful, right?” Dorothea spoke first when everyone else looked hesitant, although rightfully so. 

“Correct: the archbishop is secretly a creature called the Immaculate One who has been masquerading as human in order to control all of Fodlan, while crushing anyone who challenges the Church,” Hubert shook his head. “And there’s something concerning the Hero’s Relics and the Crest Stones that they’re not telling us.” 

Edelgard had originally been planning on keeping her classmates out of this, but after witnessing her allies’ failed attempt at the Holy Mausoleum and the erratic behavior of the ones who slither in the dark, she’d realized that she was going to need her classmates on her side if she was to succeed on this path. 

“Have you talked to the professor about this yet, Edelgard?” Berenadetta asked. “I-I’m only going with you if he does!” 

And many of them were only going along with what little she’d told them because she’d promised to get Byleth on board. 

“Not yet: given everything that’s been going on, I haven’t had the chance to broach the subject to him, especially since I don’t know how much influence Rhea has over him,” Edelgard sighed. “Until I can tell for certain that he’s on our side, I’d rather not run the risk of him turning us over to the Church.” 

“No way! He wouldn’t do that! The Professor is awesome!” Caspar shook his head. 

“He is certainly a wonderful person, but if Edie says we need to be careful, then we should be,” Dorothea smiled fondly as she giggled. “Although... he does know my favorite tea and food and always invites me to little parties. Quite the gentleman, unlike a certain noble.” 

“Dorothea, he invites everyone to tea or to eat,” Linhardt muttered, his eyelids drooping as he fought to keep himself conscious. “And he knows everyone’s favorites.” 

“Yeah, he always makes me feel safe when he’s around,” Bernadetta said. “If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have the courage to be out of my room so much.” 

“So we’re just digging for evidence to prove the Church’s corruption in order to spread it throughout Fodlan, right?” Ferdinand finally spoke, frowning as he placed a hand on his chin. “We’re just trying to reveal how corrupt and cruel the institution is so we can get Rhea removed and someone better put in charge?” 

“Correct,” Edelgard lied. “The sooner we expose the Church’s wicked deeds, the sooner we can break its hold over Fodlan’s people.” 

“Any luck?” Hubert asked, his cold gaze roaming over those assembled. 

“Aside from what you’ve told us and what we’ve seen Rhea do, not really,” Dorothea sighed, absently curling a few strands of her hair around her finger. “Seteth caught Petra going through his office, though.” 

“I was not having enough sneakiness,” the foreign princess said with a determined expression. “It will not happen again!” 

“If I hadn’t convinced Seteth that Petra was hiding in there as part of an exercise in moving unseen with me looking for her, he would have likely kicked her out of the academy,” Ferdinand shook his head. “I’m glad he believed me, but he told Petra he didn’t want to find her sneaking around his office again. I think he also told the guards to keep an eye on his room, because they’ve been patrolling near it.” 

“That’s unfortunate: he probably has something of interest in there,” Edelgard sighed. “No matter: we’ll find answers elsewhere so long as we avoid getting the attention of Rhea’s faithful.” 

“I’d hate to end up on the receiving end of Thunderbrand or in Shamir’s sights, that’s for sure,” Linhardt sighed, shaking his head. “Although I would love to study that Relic up close...” 

“Does anyone have any ideas as to what to do next?” Edelgard asked, not really hoping for much but wanting to keep them all involved. 

“Maybe we could see if we could get Flayn to say something?” Ferdinand suggested. “If we put enough pressure on her, maybe she could accidentally spill some information?” 

That actually wasn’t a bad plan. 

“How do we do that?” Edelgard asked, curious to see where he was going with this. 

“Maybe get her to start talking about her knowledge about the saints? She has a particularly keen knowledge about Cethleann, if what I heard her telling Ignatz in the chapel was correct,” Ferdinand mused. 

“Good thing she didn’t show up to training today, thanks to Seteth,” Caspar murmured. “So, who wants to go talk to her?” 

“I guess I’ll do it,” Linhardt shockingly offered. “I’ve been wanting to ask her about hers and Seteth’s Crests, after all.” 

“Then we have our course of action,” Edelgard declared. “Keep looking for proof and I’ll work on convincing the professor to join us. As always: nobody is to say anything about this, am I clear? One mistake could end up with all of us getting expelled, thrown into a dungeon, or worse.” 

More people presented a higher chance of someone talking where they shouldn’t, but she needed numbers. Even with the soldiers and spies coming into the monastery disguised as townspeople, merchants, or pilgrims, she needed people getting only where students could. 

It left a bitter taste in her mouth, asking her classmates to risk their lives for her, but she had no other choice. 

All she needed now was her teacher, especially since Rhea had implanted the heart of the Goddess inside of him. Rage warmed her blood at the thought of her using Byleth as a vessel for Sothis, but part of her did find some relief in knowing that Sothis didn’t desire his body. Was the Goddess the one guiding him from inside the sword? 

“Let’s finish up and be on our way,” Edelgard nodded at the discarded training weapons. 

The class quickly finished cleaning up the training hall and dispersed outside, Edelgard looking down at her dirty and sweaty body. 

“Might as well bathe and get some food,” she decided. 

Her assignment was already done and her materials gathered for tomorrow’s lecture, so all she really had to do was focus on studying before turning in for the night. Her course decided, Edelgard started down the path leading by the dormitories, her attention going to the closed door of her professor’s room. 

Was that his voice he could hear coming from it? 

Curious, Edelgard inched closer, pretending to study one of the flowers as she strained to hear Byleth’s deadpan voice. 

“Will you stop?” his muffled words made her heart skip a beat- had she been discovered already?! “I can’t focus on anything with the two of you bickering like that.” 

Edelgard fought down a sigh of relief, her heart hammering in her chest before she realized something. “Wait, the two of who?” 

She didn’t hear anything for several moments before Byleth spoke again. 

“I know you don’t like her, but you don’t have to sit there blaming her for everything,” her professor sighed. “Sothis, don’t antagonize him. I even got you that bear, as promised.” 

A smile tugged at Edelgard’s lips: that was why Byleth had been seen buying a bear stuffy in the markets last week? He’d bought it for Sothis? 

“I don’t know what Rhea was planning when she did this to me, Nemesis, and how would Sothis know?” Byleth’s next words made Edelgard freeze. 

Nemesis, the King of Liberation?! What was Byleth talking about? 

“She might be the Goddess, but she doesn’t know everything that her children are doing. No, I’m not going to march into Rhea’s quarters and put the Sword of the Creator through her chest,” Byleth sounded weary, as if he’d been listening to these two presences fight for days now. “I will not have my room turning into your own personal battlefield, so both of you quit.” 

Edelgard inched closer, glancing around before intensifying her ‘study’ of the flowers on the bushes outside her professor’s room. 

“Nemesis, I can’t go against the entire Church on my own, nor do I really want to,” Byleth continued, his voice almost too quiet to hear. “I know you could, but I am not you. I know I have Sothis’s heart inside of me while you only had her blood, but I’m not sure that would make the weapon stronger in my hands.” 

Edelgard doubted that: when Nemesis had the weapon, the Crest Stone had actually been in its place on the sword, rather than in his chest. This was likely as strong as it was going to get... unless Sothis, herself, were to wield it, perhaps. 

“You sense Edelgard nearby?” she froze, wondering if she should just abscond now before she was caught. “No, I’m not going to bother her: she has enough to handle at the moment. What is she to me? I... don’t know. I care about her and all the other students obviously, but El is... different. She’s... special to me.” 

Her heart pounded in her chest, heat threatening to flush her cheeks, and Edelgard decided she’d heard enough. She plucked one of the flowers just to keep up the ruse, running her fingers over the stem as she hurried to her room. 

Her professor was a daring man, indeed, to be hosting the spirit of Nemesis without telling her. She’d wondered if it had been Sothis guiding him and somehow taking a toll on his body, but now Edelgard suspected that it had been Nemesis waking up inside of the Relic. The strain of suddenly becoming host of such a powerful and ancient spirit would be enough to drain anyone, wouldn’t it? 

Edelgard sighed, placing a hand over her heart as it finally began to settle within her chest. She would have to go through everything she could find on Nemesis both inside the library and from other sources. Come to think of it, the Church’s history never said anything about where Nemesis had been buried or what had been done with his body... 

How much more where they hiding? 

And who was Byleth going to ask to represent their House in the White Heron Cup? Thse questions all demanded answers, although Edelgard sorely hoped he wouldn’t pick her. 


	6. Before the Ball

“The ball is tomorrow. I have no worthwhile memories of such events, yet I’m still looking forward to this one,” Edelgard spoke a few days after the White Heron Cup, which Dorothea had won by a landslide. 

Compared to poor Hilda and Annette, Dorothea had been a swan dancing amongst geese, outperforming the other two girls with ease and practiced grace. 

“As am I!” the winner of said cup beamed, shooting Byleth a not-so-subtle wink. “I’m certain the boys will be falling over themselves to dance with the winner of the White Heron Cup.” 

“Says the one who almost fell over herself to run over and hug the professor the moment you were declared winner,” Linhardt muttered. “Honestly, I thought you were going to break the man’s neck with the way you were hanging onto him.” 

“Lin!” 

“And I am looking forward to destroying all of the unworthy suitors who will undoubtedly swarm Lady Edelgard,” Hubert said from behind his liege, his sinister smile enough to make Sothis shudder inside of Byleth’s head. 

“My, my, he can be quite terrifying, can he not?” the Goddess murmured. “What do you want to do for this ball, anyway?” 

“I will admit, Edelgard is adorable. However, when it comes to elegance on the dance floor, I am superior!” Ferdinand declared, enthusiasm bubbling from every pore on his body. 

“Can you please not call me that in front of the professor?” Edelgard demanded, her ears tinted red. “Or at all, really.” 

Part of Byleth did agree with Ferdinand, said part immediately earning an exasperated sigh from Nemesis. 

“This again, boy? This girl... something about her puts me ill at ease, and it isn’t the blood work those creatures did to her to give her the Crest of Flames,” the King of Liberation rumbled. “I see something of myself in her: someone determined to overturn the dragons and their slaves at any cost. Although, I don’t know just what she knows about Seiros and her dragon ilk.” 

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t rope me in with her,” Sothis griped. “She may be my daughter, but I have absolutely no approval for what she’s done!” 

“Says the one that bitch is so desperate to revive and the reason that Seiros is doing any of this at all,” Nemesis retorted, his rage smoldering within Byleth’s chest. 

“I will not be as a fish upon the flame!” Petra’s spirited declaration jolted Byleth back to reality, where his students had apparently been engaging in some strange banter about fish and flames without Flayn being present. 

Where the hell did she get off to this time? Byleth still had a tough time getting her to go on missions or even participate in heavy-duty training thanks to Seteth watching her interactions with the class like a hawk. He rarely allowed Flayn to set foot on a battlefield even if Byleth was nearby and promising to personally shield her. 

“Good work, Bern,” Dorothea sighed, her emerald gaze seeking Byleth’s as a world-weary smile curved her lips. 

He nodded, hoping the action would make it appear as if he’d been paying attention and not bickering with two ancient spirits in his head. 

“I have a proposition,” Edelgard drew their attention to her, having since composed herself. “Let’s all agree to meet back at the monastery exactly five years from today.” 

“Like a class reunion? That’s a great idea!” Caspar immediately jumped on the idea. 

“Five years from today will be the millennium festival for Garreg Mach Monastery,” Hubert mused. “I’ve heard the magnitude of the festivities will exceed all prior years.” 

“Ooh, how exciting!” Dorothea cooed, again shooting Byleth a flirtatious wink. “Sounds like a great excuse to come visit our dear professor!” 

“You will be seeing how much growing I have done. You will be pleased, Professor,” Petra chimed in. “This idea is good!” 

“Who knows where each of us will be in five years’ time... or who we will become,” Edelgard murmured, her gaze not meeting anyone else’s. “Still, I have faith that all of us will gather and celebrate our reunion.” 

Linhardt yawned loudly. “That’s assuming the professor is still here in five years and not enjoying a cozy early retirement.” 

That idea made both Sothis and Nemsis scoff, Byleth wishing he could smack both of them. 

Edelgard’s face faltered before her mask returned. “Even if that’s the case, you will come, won’t you? Whether or not you’re still teaching here...” 

She was almost pleading as she looked at him, expectantly awaiting some form of confirmation from him. 

Byleth nodded. “Of course.” 

“Are you sure? You want to come back here, to where Seiros could try to get her claws into you again if she hasn’t, already?” Nemesis grunted. 

Byleth ignored him, focusing on the smile now curving Edelgard’s lips. 

“Don’t forget, my teacher,” she said with a rather cheeky tone, which drew laughs from the others. “Even if the millennium festival should be cancelled, I promise to return here.” 

Why would it be cancelled? Didn’t Hubert just say it was likely going to be the largest celebration in the Church’s history? 

“Unless she’ll do something to make it be cancelled,” Nemesis rumbled ominously. “Girl is going to be Empress, after all... or is it Emperor? Bah.” 

“I doubt she’ll be that foolish,” Sothis scoffed. “Even if she did do such a thing, what would she gain from such an action?” 

“The same thing I sought: freedom from your kind,” Nemsis answered, the embers of his ancient rage stoked into flickering flames yet again. “The destruction of all who would enslave us.” 

“Uh, Professor, what’s going on with your sword?” Dorothea asked. 

The world was burning yellow again... his body was growing warmer and warmer, making his vision dance with spots and blend a bit together. He looked back at where he’d set the Sword of the Creator against his desk, the Relic emanating erratic pulses of red and yellow light. 

“Professor?” 

Even their voices were starting to slur together. Byleth’s mind was mud as his body was called by the sword, called by the rage despite the young girl’s voice screaming inside of his mind. His hand reached out through the haze, seeking the sword. 

“STOP!” Sothis shrieked. 

His fingers closed around the hilt of the Relic, and the world exploded in fire. 

Her ears were ringing, her mouth tasting of blood as Edelgard peeled herself off of the ground as she blinked spots from her eyes. Her vision swam a bit, but she blinked again repeatedly and grabbed the closest thing she could find: a desk. Edelgard pulled herself up, dimly aware of the shouting entering the classroom. 

What in the world had just happened? They’d been talking about the millennium festival and then Byleth had... 

“Byleth,” she croaked, the world snapping back into focus as her gaze riveted onto the smoldering remains of her dear professor’s desk. 

“Byleth!” he was lying sprawled on his back several feet away from the destroyed desk, his eyes closed and face marred with burns and ash. 

“Lady Edelgard, are you unharmed?” Hubert was grasping her arms, trying to transfer her weight to his taller frame. 

“Hubert, what did you do?!” she hissed, rage and horror and fear all warring inside of her as she tried to wrench herself free, to run to Byleth’s prone form. 

“I did not do this, I swear it,” her vassal answered without hesitation, but not in the way that told Edelgard that he was hiding something. 

The alarm she could see in his eyes proved that he had been just as surprised by this as all of them. 

“Let me go!” Edelgard tried to break free again, but again Hubert held her fast. 

Her classmates were picking themselves up, groaning and muttering nonsensical words around her. 

“What in the name of the Goddess is going on here?!” knights and other students were gathering by the door, Catherine and Manuela among the first to enter. 

“Stay back!” Hubert barked, pulling Edelgard further away from Byleth even as she tried to dig her heels in to deny him. “The Sword of the Creator exploded. I do not know if it’s done!” 

“What?! Everyone get back!” Catherine immediately halted the growing crowd of students and staff gathering outside the classroom. “Now! Back up!” 

“E-Edie?” Dorothea stammered, the songstress’s hat gone from her tousled hair and fair face marred with a few minor burns. “Where’s the professor?” 

Edelgard looked back at where Byleth was laying, her eyes going to where his glowing Relic was still brimming with energy, pulsing in an errant rhythm that warned of another imminent explosion. Her Crest was warm in her blood, unusually so, and Edelgard swore she could have heard a girl’s voice screaming just before the explosion. 

“What’s going on here?! Are we under attack?!” Seteth was there, shoving his way through the crowd to get into the classroom as other knights pulled the Black Eagles away from the smoldering Relic. 

“The Sword of the Creator exploded,” Catherine answered him. “I don’t know if the professor’s okay or not. I was about to go forward and grab him.” 

“What?! No, don’t get close to it!” Seteth ordered. 

“We’re not leaving Byleth there!” Edelgard tried to keep her composure, found it hanging together by mere threads as the darkness threatened her once again. 

She could hear the screams of her siblings, see their drained corpses sprawled lifeless before her yet again. She could see Byleth among them: another body added to those she’d cared so much for yet couldn’t save. 

Her heart threatened to shatter within her chest as she beheld his still form, his ashen face blackened and burned. His clothes were shot full of holes, many still smoldering and making her fear that he was being burned still. 

“We can’t get close! The sword looks like it’ll go off again at any moment!” Seteth was taking in the damage to the classroom, frowning at the destroyed desks and the scorch marks on the stone wall and floor around the Relic. 

Just like it had on Gronder Field: the sword was surrounded by the blackened mark of the Crest of Flames. 

“What happened?” Seteth’s voice made Edelgard tear her gaze away from her professor. “Edelgard?” 

“We were talking about the ball tomorrow and the professor’s sword began to glow,” she explained. “He went over to investigate it when it... exploded.” 

More and more knights were showing up, many with their weapons drawn as they pushed their way into the classroom through the chattering crowd. 

“Professor! Everyone!” Flayn finally showed up, her eyes wide with shock as she took in the debacle. “What happened?!” 

Flayn. 

“Flayn, use Rescue to get the professor over here!” Edelgard all but shrieked at the girl, whose eyes widened further with realization. 

“R-right away!” she held up her hands and chanted softly, white arcane sigils flaring around her palms as she channeled her magic. 

When it was done, Byleth’s prone form vanished in a burst of light before reappearing right in front of Flayn. The stench of burned flesh almost made Edelgard sick despite how familiar the horrible scent was to her. 

“Get him to the infirmary, now!” Manuela took charge, kneeling beside the professor and examining him with an expert eye. “He can be moved, but do so carefully!” 

Catherine, herself, barked instructions at another knight as she dug her hands beneath Byleth’s armpits, trying to support his head with her own body as her subordinate took the professor’s legs. 

“Be careful,” Manuela stressed. 

Edelgard finally shrugged Hubert off and hurried over to where the two knights were trying to keep Byleth still even as his unusual sleeves trailed against the ground around Catherine’s feet, threatening to trip her up. 

“Can someone cut those off or something?!” the knight demanded, grunting against the professor’s dead weight. “I don’t want to trip and drop him!” 

Edelgard tugged her dagger from its sheathe without hesitation, ignoring the bitter memories the blade carried as she sliced through the long black fabric of the odd sleeves. The blade caught a few times, but she sawed away until she successfully separated the lengths of fabric and gathered them into her hands to ensure none would trip on them. 

They were perforated with burn holes and smelled like ash, but they were Byleth’s. Maybe she could find someone to sew them back on later. 

“Make way!” Catherine shouted, she and the other knight carrying the professor out while Manuela fretted over him every step of the way. 

The crowd parted immediately, students from all the classes watching in stunned horror as they beheld the burned Black Eagles and their damaged classroom. 

“Edelgard, are you alright?” Dimitri and his shadow approached, their eyes falling on the burns she could feel heating her flesh. 

“I’m fine,” she shook her head, making every effort to keep her breathing steady and her countenance calm despite the panic and fear currently tying her stomach into knots. “The professor took the brunt of the blast, and I pray he survives.” 

“People are saying his sword exploded, more than it did back during the Battle of the Eagle and Lion,” the prince frowned at the Crest of Flames scorching around the fallen Relic. “What is going on here?” 

“Took the words right out of my mouth, Your Princeness,” Claude strode over, also examining the damage. “Man, it looks like that thing went off good, huh.” 

Edelgard’s fingers clenched around the cut sleeves in her hand, just barely keeping her rage in check as she shot Claude an icy glare that immediately made him wither. “That’s all you have to say, while Professor Byleth is currently in the infirmary, quite possibly in danger of dying?” 

“Whoa, princess!” the Alliance heir backed up, raising his hands in surrender as fear flashed in his usually impish gaze. “I know Teach is hurt bad, but I meant no disrespect with my words. Honest!” 

Edelgard made every effort to quell her anger, her fear, and forced herself to give a terse nod. “I understand, but I wish you would acknowledge just how serious this is.” 

She could feel her classmates looking at her, ash and burn-streaked faces a mix of pain and fear and shock. 

“Right, right, sorry,” Claude bowed and scurried off, not even giving a backwards glance at the crowd mingling about. 

“Edie?” Dorothea murmured. “Do you think the professor will be alright?” 

“I do. He’s not so weak as to be killed by this,” the words were to convince herself just as much as her classmates. “Let’s get ourselves checked out and then see how he’s faring.” 

Keep them busy, keep their thoughts away from the crisis that had rocked them all. 

“My head is doing the spinning,” Petra whined, clutching her head as she sat on the floor. 

She’d been standing closest to the blast, aside from Byleth, and Edelgard wondered how badly it would have hurt her if she had been in the princess’s place. 

“Come on, Ferdinand!” Caspar took one of Petra’s arms and draped it around his shoulders while Ferdinand did the same. 

“Just keep your eyes closed and trust them,” Linhardt called as Petra stumbled with her dizziness. “They should get you to the healers intact... hopefully.” 

“Bernadetta, are you okay?” Edelgard turned to see the recluse cowering behind a pillar, looking relatively unharmed as she covered her head with one of Ferdinand’s books. 

“Don’t look at me!” Bernadetta squealed in response, trying to make herself as small as possible on the floor. “It’s going to kill me! The evil spirit of the professor’s sword is out for my blood!” 

“Evil spirit?” Edelgard raised an eyebrow: there had been rumors of a spirit residing in the Relic going around the monastery ever since the mock battle on Gronder, but this was the first she’d heard of it being evil. 

“It’s going to kill me...” came the wail before Bernie fell silent with a whimper. 

Goodness, this girl... 

“No spirit is going to kill you, Bernie,” Dorothea said as she crouched and draped a gentle arm around the cowering noble girl’s shoulders. “We’ll keep you safe, no matter what. Us and Professor Byleth! He won’t let anything happen to you.” 

“But... but... what if he...” 

“He’ll survive and be back to teaching before we know it,” Edelgard cut her off, forcing herself to smile at Bernadetta as the girl peeked out at her. “It’s going to be okay, Bernadetta. I promise.” 

“Come on, Bernie: let’s get the healers to look at you and make sure you’re okay,” Dorothea gently eased Bernadetta to her feet and led her through the crowd, leaving Edelgard and Hubert with the rest of the school. 

“You two go as well,” Seteth ordered, his eyes laden with suspicion as he stared at the Sword of the Creator. “I’m going to report this to Rhea and see what she wants to do with him.” 

Part of Edelgard wanted to scream at the advisor, to tell him that Byleth was more than just an afterthought and that all of this was Rhea’s fault to begin with! If Byleth was severely maimed from this, Edelgard swore that Rhea would pay for each drop of blood spilled from her dear professor. 

“Lady Edelgard, let’s get the healers to tend to you,” Hubert was gently tugging on her arm. 

“Very well,” still clutching Byleth’s cut sleeves, Edelgard allowed Hubert to escort her into the crowd as knights began barking for the onlookers to disperse. 

She looked back at the classroom and had to stop herself from freezing on the spot. A tall, broad-shouldered warrior was standing over the fallen Sword of the Creator, his body rippling with muscles and lined with horrible scars. His silver-white hair was braided and swept back to keep it from his eyes, his mouth hidden behind a thick mustache and beard. Yellow eyes, one of which had two scars drawn across it, smoldered as he looked at Edelgard, his chain-lined tassets fixed with a belt in the shape of a dragon head while his titanic arms were lined with spiked plates. 

His gaze burned with rage as he stared at Edelgard, his head shaking back and forth in a slow and silent warning. And then he was gone as if he’d never existed, and Edelgard continued walking forward so as to not arouse suspicion as to why she’d directed an intense gaze back at the classroom. 

She needed answers... and she needed them immediately, damn it! 


	7. Awakening

“Is that all?” the ancient voice was again pounding the darkness. “Get up, boy. We still have much to accomplish.” 

“Wake up this instant!” another voice, younger and feminine, demanded. 

Byleth stirred in the dark. It was so quiet and peaceful... he didn’t have to fight or kill or watch the world turn red and yellow around him. 

“Urgh, that’s my fault, you know,” the ancient voice said, a hint of embarrassment in the words. 

“Of course we know!” snapped the younger one. 

“Don’t test me, brat,” the darkness smoldered as the two presences squared off. 

“Will you two stop?” Byleth’s own voice filled the void, springing unbidden from his throat. 

Where was he? What happened? All he remembered was his students talking about the Millennium Festival and the ball, and then... 

The smoldering animosity immediately doused, replaced with guilt and concern. 

“It appears that, uh, Sothis and I bickering made the Sword of the Creator overflow with energy,” the voice belonging to Nemesis cleared his throat. “And we... made it, uh... explode.” 

“Explode?” the faces of his students flashed in Byleth’s mind. “Are the students okay?” 

“They’re fine,” Sothis materialized in a burst of green light, not quite meeting his eyes as she hovered before him. 

“Minor burns, a bit of a concussion for Miss Petra, but they’re recovering well,” Nemesis appeared at her side, his own presence heralded by a flash of fiery red-orange. 

“Wait, how did Petra get a concussion?” Byleth frowned, looking around the void. 

His chest was warming, the Crest Stone slowly waking up inside of him. 

“She was thrown against a desk by the blast, hit her head pretty hard,” Nemesis folded his bulging arms, careful to not mess up the armored plates on his forearms. “But she’s recovering quickly thanks to the healers. I may hate the church, but their physicians are skilled.” 

“But they’re safe?” something cold gripped the stone in his chest, something that made his mind race and fear the worst. 

“Do not be afraid: your little ones are safe and as hale and hearty as ever,” Sothis assured him. “All you need to do is wake up.” 

“My little ones?” Byleth asked, raising an eyebrow at the Goddess. 

“Yes,” Sothis nodded. “Who else’s little ones would they be, the way they flock around their beloved professor?” 

“She has a point, loathe as I am to say it,” Nemesis grunted, the hint of a grin appearing beneath his facial hair. 

Sothis responded by sticking her tongue out at him. 

Byleth rolled his eyes at the two ancient spirits. “How do I... wake up?” 

“I don’t know, just open your eyes or something,” Nemesis answered. 

“Hilarious, Nemesis,” Byleth deadpanned, earning a bark of laughter from the King of Liberation. 

“Focus,” Sothis gave her own answer. “Let your body awaken on its own.” 

“That’s helpful,” Byleth drawled, and Sothis stuck her tongue out at him as well. 

Just... focus on waking up, huh. The two spirits vanished as he willed his eyes to open, the void claiming him entirely in the empty, quiet darkness. 

Then that void began to lighten and split, overtaken by the warmth of his Crest-endowed blood and the familiar rhythm of his breathing. 

He pried his eyelids open inch by inch, wincing as bright light pierced his vision and made dark spots dance across his sight. Byleth grunted with the effort and the pain lancing his forehead, then dared to open his eyes a crack. 

The light was more bearable this time, and his nerves flared awake all at once. He could feel bandages wrapped around his body, felt the heavy warm weight of the thick comforter that restrained him yet left his arms free. There was some pain, a dull ache that throbbed within his flesh, but it was hardly the worst pain he’d ever endured. 

His muscles were sore as Byleth pushed himself to sit up, making the comforter fall from his bared chest. The white bandages wrapped around his torso were itchy, but tolerable and they looked clean. 

He was in the infirmary, lying on one of the beds while bright light shone through the lone window. It was maybe noon, but he couldn’t tell from the angle of the sunlight. The smell of medicinal herbs was overwhelming, filling his mouth with a bitter taste that made him grimace. 

“Hello?” he asked hesitantly, his throat aching from the effort of speaking. 

“Oh!” Manuela’s startled yelp almost made him jump, the physician peeling herself off of the floor by a desk cluttered with materials and vials. “Professor! You’re awake!” 

Her hair was disheveled and her makeup smeared, but her eyes were clear as she scurried over to his bedside. Her hands took ahold of his wrist and her fingers felt his pulse, her brows furrowed. 

“Pulse is steady... despite no heartbeat,” she murmured, her hands then going to his bare chest and shining with white magic. “Burns have been completely healed, as have the broken ribs... Do you still feel sore, Professor?” 

“Yes, but it’s not bad,” he answered, frowning at the faint mist of alcohol that clouded her breath. “How long was I out?” 

“Three days,” Manuela answered, her face softening as she straightened and withdrew her hands. “You were sorely missed at the ball, dear. So many of the students were hoping to dance with you.” 

Right, the ball... 

“And my students?” Sothis had said they were fine, but he had to be sure, especially if Petra had sustained a concussion. 

A wry but exhausted smile curved Manuela’s painted lips. “Your little treasures have been making it a habit to badger me about your wellbeing at least a dozen times a day. Honestly, I could have sworn that at least one of them was keeping vigil outside the infirmary, waiting for any change in your condition with the way they were constantly flitting in.” 

“Were any of them seriously hurt?” Byleth pushed his legs out of the restrictive covers and put his feet on the cold floor, glad to see that he was wearing his black mercenary trousers. 

Manuela frowned. “Poor little Petra hit her head on a desk and suffered a mild concussion along with the burns everyone else got, but they’re all fine now. I checked them myself before releasing them.” 

Byleth exhaled slowly, some of the tightness in his chest fading. He put his weight on his feet, his muscles trembling a bit as they were put back into use. 

“Careful,” Manuela hovered beside him, hands outstretched to aid his ascent should he need it. “Take it slow.” 

“Thank you, Professor Manuela,” Byleth straightened entirely, swaying a bit as his legs adjusted to the strain of bearing his weight once again. “I hope my students weren’t being too much trouble.” 

Manuela gave a short but weary laugh. “They adore you, Professor. It’s good to see how much they care about you, especially little Edelgard.” 

“Edelgard?” Byleth frowned. 

“Oh, she’s always so stern and proper, but she was in here more than anyone else, sitting by your bedside and waiting to see any change in your condition,” Manuela sighed. “She looked so... afraid that one time I was here. I heard her tell you not to forget the promise you’d made.” 

The former songstress smiled suggestively. “And that’s not even the beginning of it! She refused to let go of your hand whenever she was here, saying something about the contact maybe helping you to find your way back.” 

The warmth in Byleth’s chest intensified. “Is that so? I wasn’t expecting to hear that.” 

“She’s very fond of you, you know,” Manuela continued. “Oh, the little princess tries to hide it, but I’ve seen the way she looks at you when she thinks nobody’s watching. It’s adorable seeing her face light up like that, if I do say so myself!” 

“I... I see,” Byleth wondered what that face looked like, wondered if Edelgard would one day show him it right as a realization hit him. “Do you think I’ll be fit for this month’s mission? It’s next week, after all.” 

Manuela frowned, examining the bandages wrapped around him. “I would say so, but don’t push yourself. You’re just checking out some old chapel, aren’t you? Shouldn’t be too demanding, but I have no desire to see you back in here so soon after releasing you!” 

“I’ll be sure to be careful,” Byleth promised, the silence in his head starting to concern him. “Thank you again, Manuela.” 

“Any time,” Manuela went over to a table and threw a baggy black shirt at Byleth. “Now put that on before someone comes in and gets any funny ideas with you standing half-naked in front of me.” 

Byleth complied, throwing the itchy cotton garment on over his head and tugging it into a more comfortable position. “What happened to my armor?” 

“It was pretty beat up, but the monastery blacksmiths have taken good care of repairing it,” Manuela answered, lifting a hand to cover her yawn. “Now, off to see Lady Rhea with you! She ordered me to send you her way once you woke up.” 

“Seiros...” Nemesis growled from deep within, but the ancient king’s rage didn’t paint the world red and yellow again. 

“Shut up, you oaf! Do you want to make the sword explode again?!” Sothis demanded. 

Ah, the sword. 

“Manuela, do you know what happened to the Sword of the Creator?” Byleth asked. 

The physician frowned. “Last I’d heard, Seteth had locked it back in the Holy Mausoleum and sealed it away, fearing it would start exploding more.” 

Right as she mentioned the weapon, the Crest Stone in Byleth’s chest pulsed with power, seeking its counterpart. It was awake, now, and it wanted to be whole once more. 

“Uh, Professor?” Manuela was backing away, looking desperately like she wanted to run. “You’re not going to be the one exploding this time, are you?” 

“I don’t think so,” the Crest Stone began to tingle, calling for the Relic forged from its body. “Although I think something else might be happening.” 

The tingling erupted, red light flaring from Byleth’s chest in a manner not unlike what had happened to Miklan back in Conand Tower. The red-black tendrils erupted from his chest, extending further and further as Manuela shrieked and scrabbled backwards. The tendrils stopped, pulsed, and then melted as the Sword of the Creator dropped out of them. 

Byleth barely caught the ancient weapon, staring down at it while the tendrils vanished. “Well, that was unusual.” 

“Unusual?!” Manuela squawked; her eyes wide as she put a hand over her heart. “That was terrifying! What was that, anyway?!” 

“The Sword of the Creator wanted to be back with me,” was all Byleth could say as he stared at the sword in his hands. “I think?” 

“You know what? I’m not nearly drunk enough for this,” Manuela sighed, slinking over to her desk and sitting heavily upon the chair, making wood grate against stone. “Just... just go before I see something else that makes me want to drink myself to sleep.” 

“Fair enough,” Byleth hooked the sword to his belt and paused again. “Were my boots not salvageable?” 

Manuela pointed at the door, where his boots were conveniently resting. Byleth quickly pushed his feet inside and laced them up, thanking the traumatized physician one more time before pushing the door open and striding out into the corridor. 

“Professor!” an overjoyed squeal rattled his ears the moment the door shut, and a familiar green-haired fish lover tackled him, nearly knocking Byleth off his feet. 

“Flayn?” he grunted, words turning into a wheeze as the girl’s arms tightened around his chest and threatened to crush his ribs. “Easy. Please.” 

He glanced up from her to where the audience chamber doors were, where several perplexed knights and monks were now peering around the corner to see what was going on. 

“He’s awake!” one of the knights strode towards him, shaking her head as she chuckled at Flayn. “Professor, how are you feeling?” 

“Well enough, although I just woke up,” Byleth answered, gently trying to extricate himself from Flayn’s vice-like grip. “Flayn, can you please let me go?” 

“Please do,” the knight added. “Lady Rhea asked us to bring you to her the moment you awoke.” 

“I was going to see her,” Byleth said in response. “Professor Manuela had informed me of Lady Rhea’s desire for my presence.” 

He nearly had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying ‘Seiros’ rather than the archbishop’s false name. 

Flayn released him, his bones sighing in relief as her crushing grip vanished. “Sorry, Professor. Oh, I should go tell the others! They’ll be so happy to see you up and about again!” 

“Wait, don’t just-” the girl dashed off, not heeding his words as she vanished around the corner to the stairway. 

“I reckon we have about five minutes before your students come charging up here en masse,” the knight chuckled, her white armor clanking and rattling as she straightened her chestplate. 

“Maybe less, depending on who’s in the main hall,” Byleth said drily. 

“Come on,” the knight urged him forward, striding towards the audience chamber’s great oaken doors and rapping her gauntlet-covered knuckles on them. “Lady Rhea? Professor Byleth is awake.” 

“Come in!” Rhea’s hurried answer sounded too excited for Byleth’s liking. 

“She certainly sounds eager to see you,” the knight whispered as she pushed the doors open, the hinges creaking noisily to allow him access to the chamber. 

Columns and ancient artifacts greeted him, as did the rainbow colors of the stained glass over the lone throne at the back of the room as Byleth strode in, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the too-sweet incense that burned in hanging bronze braziers. 

“Professor! I am so glad to see you unharmed!” Rhea’s pristine face was the picture of relief and joy as the archbishop strode forward and wrapped her slender arms around Byleth. “The Goddess is surely merciful to return you to us so soon!” 

The incense smelled even stronger on her for some reason, or maybe that was the flowers in her hair? He could feel the strength in her arms, deceptive despite how frail they appeared. 

“I’m sorry for worrying you, Lady Rhea,” Byleth managed, uncertain if he would trust his own Nemesis-occupied body to embrace the archbishop without attempting to crush her. 

Rhea pulled back, her robes rustling at the movement as she beamed at Byleth, yet the joy felt almost... predatory. “No need to apologize, dear one. I am... so relieved to see you unharmed.” 

“Hold it!” Seteth’s sharp voice made archbishop and professor jump. “Explain yourself! How did you get the Sword of the Creator out of the Holy Mausoleum?!” 

“It was in the Mausoleum?” Byleth feigned ignorance, hoping Manuela would keep silent about what she’d seen. “The sword was at my bedside when I awoke.” 

“What on earth?” Seteth frowned at the Relic. “Nobody should have been able to undo the seals except for me!” 

“The sword chose him, Seteth,” Rhea said gently yet firmly, her gaze hardening as she glanced back at her advisor. “It is understandable that it would try to make its way back to its wielder.” 

“I... I see, Lady Rhea,” Seteth backed off, but the suspicion in his gaze suggested that he was going to investigate this very closely. 

Byleth didn’t blame him: even he would have been suspicious of this unusual circumstance. 

“I still don’t know why the sword exploded, but it feels normal now,” Byleth said. “But I was told none of the students were seriously injured except for Petra, who got a concussion.” 

Rhea nodded. “Your students have recovered, Professor Byleth, but what about you? How do you feel?” 

“A little sore here and there, but nothing too debilitating,” he answered, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to loosen muscles that had rarely moved for days. “A bit stiff.” 

Rhea nodded. “If you start to feel worse, please return to the infirmary or come to me. I’ll have you taken care of.” 

“I don’t like how that sounds,” Nemesis muttered. “This bitch is planning something, mark me.” 

Byleth ignored him, despite fully agreeing with the King of Liberation’s words and nodding to Rhea. “I will do so, Lady Rhea. Thank you.” 

She smiled again, slipping into her role as the benevolent Archbishop once again. “Of course, dear one, of course. I wish your father could see you, but he’s still on his own mission and won’t be back for days.” 

Ah, that took the words right out of Byleth’s mouth. 

“I see. Thank you for telling me,” he bowed to her. “Is there anything else you require of me?” 

“No, professor. Please, take the rest of the day to rest and recover from the accident,” Rhea ordered, clasping her hands in silent prayer. “I will pray for a swift recovery on your behalf.” 

“Thank you,” with that dismissal done, Byleth turned and walked out of the chamber, hearing Seteth’s words just before the doors ground shut. 

“Lady Rhea... his eyes flashed yellow just for a brief moment,” the advisor murmured. “It... it looked just like...” 

“I know, but that must have been some leftover power from the Relic,” Rhea answered. “There is no trace of that thief left in this world.” 

The oaken doors slammed closed behind Byleth, silencing the conversation. 

“Relics sure are weird, huh,” the knight who’d escorted him commented, her face hidden behind her visor. “To think that the sword teleported to you through Seteth’s wards.” 

“I don’t understand it, either, but I don’t think it’s at risk of exploding anymore,” Byleth nodded to her, pausing as a flurry of activity and voices emanated from the stairwell to his left. “Oh dear, here they come.” 

The knight lightly tapped his arm with her gauntlet. “It was nice knowing you, Professor. I’ll see you on the other side someday.” 

A nearby monk and another knight snickered at the words, laughing again when Byleth slipped between the smartass and the wall and held said smartass by her arms in front of himself like a shield. 

“If I’m going down, you’re coming with me,” he deadpanned as she stammered and tried feebly to break free from his grip, causing the metal plates to dig into his hands. “You have armor on, protect me.” 

“Professor!” she protested. 

A shock of long pale hair and red was the first to emerge from the stairs, sharp violet eyes locking with blue as a relieved and overjoyed smile curved the owner’s lips. 

“He is awake,” Edelgard called down the stairs as more of the Black Eagles began dashing out of the stairwell. 

A thousand pounds lifted from the princess’s shoulders as she strode forward, only pausing when she saw the white-armored shield fidgeting betwixt professor and students. 

“Professor, can you please not use me as a shield?” the knight squeaked before her voice was drowned out by a barrage of questions and excited exclamations from the rest of the Black Eagles as they crowded around. 

“Professor, I’m so glad you’re safe!” Bernadetta had somehow gotten around the shield and was recreating Flayn’s vice grip on Byleth’s chest. “I was so worried!” 

“See! I told you he’d be fine!” Caspar shouted, pumping his fist in the air and nearly socking Ferdinand. “Professor, you’re fine, right?” 

“Caspar, do not be punching anyone,” Petra chided. 

“Everyone, settle down!” Edelgard commanded, her stern voice making her classmates immediately fall silent. 

Bernadetta yelped and let go of Byleth, scurrying to hide behind Dorothea as the songstress gently patted her ruffled purple hair. With the students somewhat pacified, relief and joy on each of their faces as smiles beamed at him, Byleth released his shield and stepped to the side. 

“Very funny,” the knight grumbled, massaging her biceps where Byleth had been gripping them. 

“Sorry,” he told her. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she snorted, lightly elbowing his gut. “Just never do that again, okay?” 

“Understood,” Byleth nodded. 

Then he looked back at his expectant students. “Four minutes, huh? You were a minute faster than expected.” 

Edelgard’s eyes shone as she laughed. “I’m glad we surpassed your expectations, my teacher.” 

“Now, is everyone feeling alright?” he looked over every single one of them, not finding any evidence of harm on any of his ‘little ones’. “Petra?” 

“We’ve recovered, Professor, although the classroom still has some scorching in it,” Linhardt looked exhausted despite the grin on his face. 

“I am feeling recovered!” Petra declared, although she did absently reach up to rub the side of her head. “Do not be worrying, Professor.” 

“If you feel any signs of that concussion coming back, get yourself to the infirmary immediately,” Byleth scrutinized her, looking for any hint of the injury. “Head wounds are always tricky to deal with, even with magic.” 

The foreign princess nodded. 

“But what about you, my teacher?” Edelgard strode forward, her eyes roaming over his battered body. “How are you feeling?” 

“Sore and tired, but I’ll live,” he glanced at the onlookers. “Now, why don’t we take this somewhere else so we’re not clogging up the hall?” 

He didn’t see Hubert or Flayn among the group, the latter likely obsessing over fish while the former possibly couldn’t be bothered to come see Byleth. 

“Please do!” his former shield added. “We need the space cleared out.” 

“Understood,” Byleth nodded to his students. “Come on, I want to see the damage myself.” 

“It’s not too bad, my teacher,” Edelgard fell into step by him as he wove his way through the students and started down the stairs. “The destroyed desks and chairs have already been replaced, but the stone held up well enough.” 

“I’m glad I didn’t end up blowing a hole through the classroom or the window behind my desk,” Byleth shook his head slowly as his stiff muscles protested with every movement he made, his boots clicking against stone. 

“As are we,” Edelgard chuckled. “I would hate for the Blue Lions to eavesdrop on our lectures and discussions.” 

“A little competition is always encouraged, but I don’t think Professor Manuela would appreciate that,” Byleth mused. 

She probably wouldn’t care, but he needed to stay on her good side. Hopefully he could trust her to not tell anyone what she’d seen. 

“So, Professor, I’ve been dying to ask you something,” Dorothea spoke up from behind him, her smile evident in her voice. 

“What is it?” Byleth finally hit the bottom of the stairs and turned down the hall leading to the Officer’s Academy, his Black Eagles right behind him as their footsteps echoed in his wake. 

An image of a mother duck leading her offspring sprang unbidden into his mind, and he hurriedly chased it away. What would his father say if he saw this? 

“Well, were you hoping to dance with anyone at the ball?” Dorothea hurried up to his side, Bernadetta clinging to her skirt as she shuffled after the songstress and tried to hide behind her as they entered the courtyard. 

“I’m not a very good dancer,” Byleth shrugged, glancing at the other students and faculty who were calling out to him. 

“Hey, Professor Byleth! You’re awake!” 

“Professor! Good to see you!” 

The air was warm and quite pleasant, the sun just starting its gradual descent to the horizon. 

“Oh, don’t be modest!” Dorothea playfully bumped him with her shoulder. “You were quite something when you were helping me practice for the White Heron Cup.” 

“He’s still hurt, Dorothea,” Edelgard said in a tight voice. “Don’t make them worse.” 

“I’m not going to hurt him, Edie!” Dorothea chided, but she did put a little distance between her and Byleth. 

“Our professor is hardly frail, Edelgard,” Ferdinand added. “You don’t need to worry.” 

“I’m fine, but thank you for the concern,” Byleth strode up to his classroom and peered inside, already seeing the black scorching on the stone floor and the wall closest to the blast. 

The Crest of Flames still blackened the floor where the Sword of the Creator had been, but it was obvious that every effort had been made to remove it, if the gleaming stone was any indication. His own desk had been replaced with another one, as had the front rows of the student’s desks and chairs. 

They smelled of freshly-cut wood and polish. 

“Well, Professor?” Dorothea prompted, still awaiting an answer to her question. 

“I wasn’t really planning on dancing with everyone,” Byleth replied. “More so watching. I imagine you had quite a few admirers hoping to steal a few moments of your time, however.” 

“I did,” Dorothea giggled, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

So, still no Mr. Right? Byleth had seen how many boys Dorothea had gone on dates with only to return with a fake smile and well-hidden disappointment in her eyes. She’d once told him it had been hard to be around him, given that he could see right through her pretty smiles and amicable attitude to the insecure and fear-filled girl beneath. She wanted to find someone who loved her for her, but so far nobody fit the bill yet. 

“I suppose I would have enjoyed sharing a dance with the winner of the White Heron Cup,” Byleth mused. “So long as you wouldn’t have minded me constantly stepping on your toes.” 

Dorothea snickered. “Ferdie did enough of that, thank you.” 

“H-hey! My dancing was exquisite!” the noble spluttered. “At least I put more effort into my dancing then Edelgard did! She wouldn’t have even left the infirmary if she wasn’t required, as head of the Black Eagles, to dance!” 

“Ferdinand,” Edelgard’s tone warned of oncoming danger as she glared at him, daring him to say more. 

“What? He’s telling the truth,” Caspar spoke up, the princess’s glare changing targets. “Sure, you were smiling and seemed to be enjoying yourself when you danced, but I could see how badly you wanted to go be with the Professor.” 

Leave it to the oblivious dork to be the most observant one here. Byleth needed to give the kid more credit. 

“Is it not natural to worry about someone important to you when they’re injured?” Edelgard asked, pointedly avoiding Byleth’s gaze. “We’ve fought together on the battlefield and trained together long enough to be more than just students under the same professor.” 

“We are having much closeness!” Petra agreed. 

“Well, when you put it that way, I guess I can see what you mean,” Dorothea mused, her face almost angelic save for a sly smile forming on her lips. “Although, I get the feeling Edie would like to be closer to our dear professor than the rest of us.” 

“Dorothea, I am going to kill you,” Edelgard seethed, her ears and cheeks burning red. 

“Oh my! Professor, save me!” Dorothea made a show of hiding behind Byleth, clutching his tunic and forcefully extricating herself from Bernadetta. 

“H-hey! Don’t leave meeee!” Bernadetta wailed, diving behind Byleth as well. 

He sighed and glanced over his shoulder at the two girls currently hiding at his back. “Is this really necessary?” 

Bernadetta nodded hurriedly, burying her face into his shirt while Dorothea winked and nodded in a calmer fashion. 

“I think they’re happy to have you back, Professor,” Linhardt chuckled. 

“Hey, can I join in?” Caspar asked, his lips split into a wide grin. 

“No,” Dorothea answered. 

“Aw, man...” 

Byleth chuckled at his students’ antics, the warmth in his chest coursing through his veins. “Well, I’m relieved to see that you all have recovered from the explosion. Our mission is next week, as are your exams.” 

The students froze, their faces slowly melting into expressions of horror. 

Byleth stared blankly back at them. “What? Oh, right, I never told you: I’m cancelling your exams next week and giving you guys a well-earned break.” 

Caspar let out a loud whoop. “Yes! I don’t have to study!” 

“And I can sleep, thank the Goddess,” Linhardt muttered. 

“You’re welcome,” said Sothis. 

“Are you sure that’s wise, my teacher?” Edelgard asked, immediately being subject to Dorothea dashing around Byleth to clamp a hand over her mouth. 

“Of course it is, Edie! Our professor is so wonderful, isn’t he!” the songstress gave Byleth a winning smile, her eyes lit up with her relief and joy. 

Edelgard smacked the other girl’s arm away from her, but she was smiling. “Thank you, my teacher. Are you certain you’re not cancelling exams because you don’t feel up to teaching?” 

“That, too,” Byleth answered, earning a laugh from his class. “In all seriousness, you have all earned a break from classes. Go ahead and enjoy your time off before the mission.” 

“Thank you so much!” Bernadetta sighed, bouncing around to rejoin her classmates. “You’re the best, Professor!” 

She then wrapped her arms around his waist, sighing happily into his torso. 

“We’ll keep ourselves prepared for the mission!” Ferdinand declared. “You can count on us, Professor!” 

“Will do,” Byleth nodded. “Someone let Flayn and Hubert know if I can’t find them.” 

A chorus of affirmatives followed his words, and Bernadetta let go of him. 

“You haven’t eaten yet, have you, my teacher?” Edelgard spoke up. “Why don’t we get some lunch together as a class?” 

Byleth could see the expectant faces and nodded. “Let’s go.” 

Caspar cheered and dragged Linhardt towards the dining hall when the latter tried to sneak off to sleep. Dorothea and Bernadetta followed, Petra and Ferdinand on their heels as Byleth was left back with Edelgard. 

“Are you certain you’re feeling alright, Byleth?” Edelgard asked softly, her voice almost a whisper. 

“I’m feeling a little unsteady, but I should recover in no time,” Byleth answered, shaking his head. “And what about you, El? Are you feeling alright?” 

A faint blush tinted her cheeks. “I’m fine, my teacher. Thank you for giving everyone a break.” 

Byleth nodded, the warmth inside making his lips curve into a smile. “You’ve all earned it, and I figured you would want at least one day to just laze about and gorge yourself on sweets.” 

“Oh!” her blush deepened. “Did you really just cancel exams so I could have that opportunity?” 

“That was part of it,” Byleth grinned. 

Edelgard shook her head, but the happiness in her oft tormented eyes lifted the weight of the world from his shoulders. “Words cannot express... my dearest teacher, I... ugh, I’m making a fool of myself again!” 

She looked adorable when she was flustered. 

“It’s good to see this side of you, Edelgard,” Byleth said, and Manuela’s words about how Edelgard looked at him sprung into mind. 

“Well, as long as it’s you, I suppose,” the girl sighed, holding a hand to her face in a poor attempt to conceal her embarrassment. 

“Just remember that if you ever need someone to talk to, my door is always open to you,” Byleth added, uncertain why those words needed to be said but wanting to say them anyway. 

Edelgard smiled again, the gesture making the warmth in his chest increase. “I’ll keep that in mind, my teacher. Now, we should probably catch up to the others, should we not? Don’t want Caspar to eat everything.” 

“Right,” Byleth chuckled, teacher and student then making their way towards the dining hall.


	8. Late Night Revelations

Edelgard awoke in a sweat, swallowing lungfuls of air to calm her racing heart. The nightmares had come again: her siblings lying in bloody heaps before her, their lifeless eyes staring into her soul, voices accusing her... calling for her to join them. 

“Again and again...” she whispered, looking up to see that it was still pitch black outside, with but a sliver of moonlight. “Still so late?” 

Edelgard pushed off her covers, scowling down at the damp nightclothes she wore. Inhaling deeply, she swung her legs out and put her weight on her feet, rising to look out the window. As her feet brushed against the red rug taking up most of the floor, Edelgard wondered again if it was there to mock her, to remind her of the blood that would soon flow at her feet. 

Her gaze went through the paned glass of the window, which fogged from her breath as she drew closer to it. Her reflection looked disheveled and exhausted, her eyes dulled but slowly clearing the sleep from them. 

What should she do now? 

Edelgard sighed to herself and found her gaze going towards the greenhouse and the pond, the silver crescent of the moon reflecting off of the still waters. She’d often see Byleth there on his days off, fishing away without a care in the world as he cast his baited line and reeled in his catch, sometimes giving it to an eager Flayn. She wondered if he found it relaxing. 

Edelgard had been concerned about the green-haired fish lover the day that Byleth had awakened, fearing that Hubert had once again overstepped his boundaries and done something to her in order to speed up the process of getting information, but her fears were quickly put to rest. Flayn had been in the dining hall, gorging herself on the fish special while Hubert had been in the library, hence Flayn not being able to find him. At least it had been one less problem to solve. 

She’d deal with everything else once the time came, but for now she had to focus on what, or who, was lurking around that old chapel. Her money was on ‘Monica’, who had been disappearing with greater frequency the past few days and refusing to tell Edelgard what was going on. Solon wasn’t talking either. 

The time would be fast approaching when those two overstepped, she could feel it in her very soul. When that time came, she would gladly dispose of both of those slithering creatures. Did Byleth or Nemesis know anything about them? 

Too many questions ran through her mind and not nearly enough answers remained. Edelgard tore her gaze away from the window and slipped her feet into her shoes, the smooth leather squeaking a bit as she tightened the laces. With that done, Edelgard threw her red cape around her shoulders to ward off the cold and quietly unlocked her door before pushing it open. 

She needed air... to breathe in something that didn’t turn her insides into fire. 

“Just a quick walk and then it’s back to bed,” she decided, peering out into the corridor. 

Nobody was present- who would be, at this ungodly hour? -and Edelgard slipped out of her room before shutting the door behind her as quietly as she could muster. The hinge squeaked and she froze, silently cursing this innate fear of rats before unfreezing and striding down the hall. 

She kept her footfalls as quiet as possible as she strode out into the chilled air of the night, filling her lungs with sweet nectar that made her shudder as the sweat on her body iced over. Edelgard could see torches lit across the paths in front of the dorms, but no knights or staff were patrolling near her at the moment. 

Silently thanking her luck, Edelgard started north, her feet sinking slightly into the grass with each step. Her thoughts wandered from the dark ones to the archbishop, still plaguing her as she moved up the stairs to the upper level. 

“Edelgard?” a familiar voice nearly made her shriek and leap back against a wall, her heart jumping into her throat. 

She was standing just before the sauna and training grounds, her gaze locking onto Byleth’s room and the man looking out of the door at her. 

“What’s wrong?” his hair was sticking up as if he’d just peeled his head off of a pillow, his black nightclothes hanging loosely from his frame. “Nightmares again?” 

Edelgard exhaled slowly, her hand still hovering over her heart as she fought to get her body back under her control. “Byleth, what are you doing up?” 

He gave her a wry smile. “I asked you the same.” 

Byleth walked over to her, his door silently swinging shut behind him as he rubbed at his sleep-addled eyes. The closer he got, the hotter her Crest-imbued blood burned, trapping her in the middle of chill and heat. 

“Yes, I couldn’t sleep,” Edelgard admitted. “I was hoping a brief walk would clear my head a bit.” 

“Care to walk with me?” he asked, nodding towards the north. 

“Of course,” Edelgard fought to keep herself from appearing too eager, silently cursing the pulsing heat pounding her head. 

Byleth nodded and walked in front of her, his boots much quieter against the paved stone than Edelgard’s shoes. 

“Was it your siblings again?” he asked as they passed the Academy and entered the reception hall through the side door. 

“It was,” Edelgard answered, those horrific images forever burned into her mind’s eye. “But this is what I deserve, as the survivor. I must remember them, remember their suffering.” 

“You don’t deserve to suffer just because you survived when they didn’t,” Byleth’s gentle voice made a bitter smile come to her lips as he turned and started towards the bridge linking the cathedral to the rest of the monastery. 

“Where were you hoping to go?” Edelgard frowned. “The portcullis won’t be raised by anyone at this hour.” 

Byleth looked over his shoulder at her and grinned. “That’s because it was already raised earlier. It’s open at the moment.” 

“I see,” Edelgard nodded to herself. 

Leave it to Byleth to think ahead on such matters, but why the cathedral? Was he going to pray to the Goddess nestled within his chest and mind? 

They walked in silence over the bridge, Edelgard taking a moment to scowl at the banners of the Church fluttering in the cold breeze. When the time came, she would tear down every single one of those accursed symbols, until the Church of Seiros was a bad memory in the history of Fodlan. 

“This way,” Byleth turned left from the gates after he entered, the grand doors to the cathedral sealed shut in front of him. 

“Are we going to the Goddess Tower?” Edelgard guessed, nostalgia bubbling up inside of her. “You know, that’s where my father came across my mother. She became another of his concubines, but I truly believe that there was sincere love between them.” 

“Really? I’d heard that an Adrestian Emperor had met his wife there, but I didn’t realize it was your father,” Byleth mused. 

They walked in silence to the Tower, which loomed silent and unforgiving in the pale moonlight illuminating the stones and vines wrapping about it. 

“So, why here?” Edelgard finally asked the question burning alongside her blood. 

“I don’t know: I just felt like I wanted to see the place with you,” Byleth frowned thoughtfully, holding a hand to his chin. 

“Oh,” the heat in her blood flushed her cheeks. “Well, I’m honored that you asked me to join you.” 

He grinned at her again, then turned his gaze to the Tower. “Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t have been at the ball with everyone else. It sounds like everyone had fun.” 

“Yes, fun...” Edelgard only remembered being worried out of her mind for her professor, but somehow managing to dance and smile for the many partners who’d swept her out onto the dance floor. 

She’d hoped to dance with Byleth, to be honest, but that was just another foolish dream that would never come to pass. 

“Was it that bad?” Byleth asked, startling her. 

“No, it was fine,” Edelgard shook her head, her gaze lifting to the sliver of silver shining upon the world. “But... if I must confess... I was hoping that I could share in the festivities with you.” 

“You were hoping to dance with me?” her professor looked over at her, curiosity in his dark blue eyes. 

She hoped the red on her face wouldn’t be too obvious. “Um... yes.” 

His hand entered her field of vision, drawing her gaze up to him. He was offering it to her, his face as unreadable as ever. “Well? We should have plenty of room here for a little waltz, don’t you think?” 

“Are you actually suggesting we dance here? In front of the Goddess Tower?” Edelgard spluttered, disbelief and... something warm and fuzzy going through her. “Isn’t that... blasphemous?” 

“I’m sure Sothis wouldn’t mind,” Byleth glanced over to his left. 

Edelgard reached out and placed her hand in his, the warmth of his touch going through her gloves. 

“If I had a body, I’d dance and sing until I collapsed!” Sothis’s voice immediately entered her ears, the little Goddess hovering off to the side. “I will allow you to dance here.” 

Edelgard’s lips curved into a smile on their own. “Thank you, Lady Sothis.” 

Sothis beamed at her. “Ah, how refreshing it is to have a little one who knows how to respect others!” 

Edelgard ignored the rage that simmered through her body. “Well, we have her blessing, do we not?” 

Her heart was going faster than a horse within her chest, her pulse pounding her heated veins as she reached up and put her left hand on Byleth’s shoulder as her left hand intertwined with his right. Sparks rippled through her body as his left hand came to rest on her waist and the duo took up their dance positions. 

“Ready?” he asked, silver light gleaming in his eyes. 

Edelgard nodded, praying that her cheeks weren’t flushed beet red as Byleth took the lead. They swayed in tandem to a silent beat, their steps perfectly timed so as to not impede with the other’s moves. 

She couldn’t help but smile up at her partner as they moved together, their clasped hands never faltering in their grip on the other’s. 

“If anyone sees us, I’ll take the blame for this, okay?” Byleth broke the wonderful silence between them, to Edelgard’s almost disappointment. 

“Don’t be ridiculous: it was me that you found walking after curfew,” Edelgard scowled at him but found her lips curving into a smile nonetheless. 

“This was my idea: trespassing on holy ground,” he commented, and she just barely managed to keep herself from snorting in a very un-princess manner. 

They continued their slow waltz in silence until they reached the final steps. With that, they stopped, released one another, and bowed their heads in thanks. 

“That was... wonderful,” Edelgard broke the silence this time, her heart hammering in her chest. “Thank you, Byleth.” 

“I had fun, too,” he gave her one of his rare full smiles, his face lighting up in a way that made Edelgard’s heart skip a beat. 

Goddess, she’s become a smitten fool! To think that the future emperor of Adrestia would have fallen victim to a schoolgirl’s crush! She froze, the heat increasing tenfold at the thought that had betrayed her. 

A crush? Did she really have a crush on her professor? She was quite fond of him, yes, but... a crush? 

“El? Are you okay?” Byleth’s words drew her out of her thoughts, his worried expression the first thing she saw. “El? You’re as red as your cape. Are you feeling unwell?” 

“I’m fine, Byleth!” she spluttered, just managing to keep her voice steady as she focused on keeping her poise intact. “Thank you.” 

“Was my dancing that bad?” he wondered, frowning down at his feet. 

“N-no, not at all!” Edelgard vehemently shook her head. “Your dancing was fine, Byleth.” 

A relieved smile curved his lips. “That’s good. I was worried I wouldn’t be up to par with you. It’s strange, really, how all of you have pushed me to be stronger than I ever thought possible. I thought I wasn’t going to be good enough to teach you, let alone lead you into battle, but somehow we’ve made it this far.” 

“And now we wouldn’t have it any other way,” Edelgard promised, forcing herself to focus elsewhere lest she find herself staring at her professor. 

Ugh, when he smiled like that... her heart was fit to burst! 

Edelgard wanted to slap herself, to rid this foul emotion from her and return to walking a bloodstained path alone, but a rather large part of her wanted him walking at her side through it all. 

And... maybe even beyond it? 

“Thank you, El,” a quick glance to the side showed that Byleth was staring up at the dark sky and the tapestry of stars spattered across the black expanse. “I really appreciate the faith that you-” 

Then he paused, his expression souring as he lowered his gaze earthward. 

“Byleth?” she turned her attention fully to him, alarm sparking when his blue eyes suddenly flashed into a smoldering yellow. “What’s wrong?” 

She reached out on a whim and took his hand, a booming voice immediately hammering her eardrums. 

“This isn’t a good idea, boy,” that massive warrior from before growled, yellow eyes burning as he glared at Byleth. “Getting too close to this girl will invite disaster.” 

“And why is that?” Edelgard demanded, the man jolting as he looked at her, then at the hand she’d placed in Byleth’s. 

“Bah, I’d forgotten about that,” the man who could only be Nemesis, the King of Liberation, grumbled. 

So, that was what he sounded like. 

“You can see him, too?” Byleth guessed. “Edelgard, this is Nemesis.” 

“The King of Liberation, himself,” Edelgard mused, her Crest of Flames burning within her body. “So, I take it you’re the reason the Sword of the Creator exploded.” 

He folded his massive arms before an equally broad chest. “I will not deny my part in making that damn thing erupt, but it took two to overload it.” 

“Don’t just deflect the blame onto me!” Sothis complained from where she hovered to the side. “You were the one whose hatred of the Church brought this on!” 

“Both of you, enough,” Byleth commanded, his stern voice making both spirits freeze. “If you make me explode this time, I don’t know if I’ll survive.” 

“I will destroy both of you if you kill Byleth,” Edelgard growled, fully aware of how pitiful the threat sounded, coming from a girl in nightclothes who wasn’t even half the size of Nemesis. 

“I think the Crest Stone exploding would beat you to that, El,” Byleth said. 

“I suppose you’re right,” Edelgard muttered, focusing her glare on Nemesis. “So, why would I bring disaster upon you?” 

“Not on me: on your beloved Byleth here, girl,” Nemesis gave a dangerous smirk. “I can see your ambition within your eyes and feel it within your heart. You want what I did: freedom from Seiros and her zealots. To take back what you’d lost.” 

“And what was it you’d lost?” Edelgard asked, the realization dawning on her that this could be a perfect opportunity to learn from the ancient king, himself. “Who were you when you fought against Seiros?” 

Nemesis paused, his gaze going a thousand years in the past as he straightened his spine. “Who was I? I was the king of a nation comprising the northern reaches of Fodlan. It was cold year-round, and the harsh soil made it hard to farm, so we relied on trade with the other houses to keep my people fed.” 

Edelgard nodded, leaning forward and sorely wishing she had something to write notes down on. 

“We knew of the dragons, the divine creatures who’d settled into Fodlan and made their home in the central mountains, but they’d never deigned to grace us with their presence and my people lived as well as they could in the harsh climate,” Nemesis shook his head slowly. “Until the beasts got the idea that the northern heathens needed to be forcefully brought to heel after a trade deal gone bad ended up with several of their faithful dead. Their followers flooded into my kingdom, forcibly deposed me with the aid of their masters, and would have killed me if I hadn’t managed to escape into the wilds.” 

“You were dethroned by the dragons?” it made sense that he spent much of his life fighting them: many of his scars looked like claw marks or flames. 

“I eked out a living afterwards by stealing from the dragon territories,” the King of Liberation continued, a vein pulsing on his forehead as his face contorted with anger. “I became a lowly bandit while dreaming of the day I could take my home back from those monsters, surviving day to day by raiding and stealing and pillaging from those who grew fat under the reign of their masters.” 

Even Sothis was staring at him intently, her facial expression impossible to read. 

“Others who hated the dragons heard of my exploits and began to promise their support, house after house quietly breaking away from the creatures until I was finally able to rally an army against the ones who’d been ruling my people,” Nemesis chuckled with an ominous light gleaming in his eyes. “Arrogant bastards never knew what was coming until I cut the head from the dragon overseeing the subjugation of my people before he could transform. My armies rolled over the zealots and my people rallied against their tormentors. And thus I was dubbed the ‘King of Liberation’.” 

“What did you do next?” Edelgard pressed, committing every word to memory as well as she could. 

A particularly vicious smile curved the dead king’s lips. “I drew the attention of a group of... people who lived underground, forced to hide since the time the Dragon Goddess Sothis walked the earth. They told me they could make me more powerful than any mortal could dream of, that they could use what the dragons cherished most against the beasts to exterminate them. They told me of a secret tomb in the mountains by the dragon’s main settlement of Zanado and gave me a way to slip inside. I was instructed to steal the bones of the Dragon Goddess, her heart, and as many of the remains of her children as I could and bring them back to Shambala.” 

Shambala! That was the name of the Agarthan’s home! Hubert had learned that much, although he didn’t know its location. 

“So, I did. With what the Agarthans had told me, I snuck into Zanado, right under those arrogant beasts’ noses, and I stole the remains of their beloved mother and goddess. I grabbed as many other bones and hearts as I could and brought them to the Agarthans, who made the remains into weapons stronger than any other kind forged by mortal hands,” Nemesis chuckled. “I gave those weapons to eleven of my most trusted lieutenants, and all of us imbibed the blood of the dragons whose bodies we’d taken in order to use the power stored in their hearts and bones.” 

“The Hero’s Relics!” Edelgard realized. “But... eleven lieutenants? We were always told there were Ten Elites.” 

Nemesis grimaced. “Yeah, Maurice got the short end of the weapons... poor bastard’s dragon heart belonged to a particularly nasty beast, and when he was fighting with it, the dragon’s rage awakened and took over his body. We watched as Maurice turned into a monster and went on a rampage before vanishing, leaving the battlefield a bloody mess.” 

“What about the Crests?” Edelgard asked, utterly enraptured by the ancient king’s words and fully aware of it. 

“Each dragon had a Brand of sorts, a mark that they used to claim territory or allowed their followers to brandish as a banner. Those Brands granted boons to the beasts through their magic-enhanced blood, and those boons manifest as Crests for the humans who took the dragon blood into themselves,” Nemesis answered, frowning. “I don’t understand everything, myself, but Crests only manifest for humans whose blood is more compatible to the dragon whose blood was passed down from generation to generation. That’s why Crest users can be so powerful: they’re directly tapping into the power of the dragon whose blood flows through them.” 

“The power of dragons,” Edelgard murmured, the image of her own Crest of Seiros flickering through her mind. 

“With the Relics in hand, including my own Sword of the Creator, I marched on Zanado and slaughtered every single dragon that had called the place home, painting the canyon walls red,” Nemesis continued. “With the Relics and the Crests we had, the beasts were no match for us, and we returned home in triumph, thinking we’d finally destroyed the dragons and freed Fodlan from their talons. We’d heard rumors of some priestess of the dragons performing miracles in the southern reaches of the continent, but figured she was too unimportant to do anything about.” 

His expression hardened. “We were wrong: this priestess rallied the southern houses, lashed them together into an Empire, then sent that Empire sweeping across Fodlan in an attempt to conquer me and those who’d worked with me to destroy Zanado. Only then did we realize that this priestess, this ‘saint’, was one of the survivors who’d used her draconic powers to trick people into idolizing and worshipping her enough to advance on the rest of Fodlan to ‘unite’ it. Turns out she had four other survivors with her, each one skilled enough to be more than a challenge for any one of my Elites. We clashed several times, with decisive losses and our defeat on Gronder field opening the path for the Empire to invade the northern part of Fodlan and drive for my kingdom. You know what happened next.” 

“The battle on the Tailtean Plains,” Edelgard murmured. “Where Seiros killed you, the Ten Elites, and solidified her hold on the whole of Fodlan. But... you were saying that the Four Saints are dragons?” 

“Correct. Cichol and Cethleann are still alive to this day, and I have suspicions Macuil is as well, though I feel he’s gone somewhere to the northern reaches of the continent. Bastard always had a particular dislike of humans, preferring to live alone so as to not waste his precious breath on us lowly creatures. As for Indech, I don’t know what happened to him and I don’t care,” Nemesis spat onto the ground. 

Time for another potentially loaded question: “And what of the underground dwellers? The Agarthans who’d made your weapons?” 

Nemesis snorted. “Those worms? They had great power and magic at their disposal, but they were afraid of the dragons, afraid of another massacre that they wouldn’t survive. They wanted me to be their puppet after Zanado, and after Maurice turned, they took the Relics to prevent the same fate from happening to the rest of us Elites. They wanted me to rule for them, to give back what the Sothis had taken from them, but I had no desire to be their puppet. I went to Shambala, stole the Relics, and returned home to prepare for Seiros and her Empire.” 

“How do you know of all that occurred after your death?” Edelgard had a hunch, but she wanted to hear it from his own lips. 

“The same reason I’m talking to you now, girl: since I’d imbibed the blood of Sothis to use the sword crafted of her remains, part of my own spirit was sealed inside her heart,” Nemesis confirmed her suspicions. “Ugh, you have me spilling everything I was waiting to tell this boy.” 

“You already told me about the Relics and Zanado,” Byleth spoke up. “That bit about the other Saints is new, though. If Cichol and Cethleann are alive... Seteth and Flayn.” 

“My thoughts exactly,” Edelgard agreed: she’d been suspicious of the duo, disliked them for their devotion to the Church and knew that something was different about them, but this wasn’t what she’d been expecting. “I felt that something was different about them, but this defies all of my expectations.” 

“Can I kill them?” Nemesis grunted, the hate in his voice making Edelgard’s chest uncomfortably warm. “I’ll make it quick.” 

“No. I like Flayn: I don’t want to kill her,” Byleth answered, his voice firm and cold. 

Nemesis snorted. “She and Seteth would gladly kill you if it meant seeing their goals to fruition. The girl might seem innocent and naïve, but she is dragonkind. They rarely show mercy to the lesser races of man unless it’s their devoted followers.” 

“Is there anything else we should be aware of?” Byleth asked. “Anything that you’ve noticed Rh- Seiros doing?” 

“I’ve felt her blood coursing through the veins of many of the higher-ranking Church officials and knights,” Nemesis answered immediately. “Along with fragments of Crest Stones modeled after her own power. Even now she’s creating a slave army, willing and otherwise, to fight for her. Do not trust her under any circumstances.” 

The blood of Seiros... the same blood that coursed through Edelgard’s own veins. 

“What of me?” Edelgard asked softly. “I have the Crest of Seiros: I have her blood within me. Does that make me susceptible to her influence?” 

Nemesis shook his head. “I don’t believe so. Your Crest of Flames dwarfs her power, so it should protect you from her will.” 

“Come to think of it, how did Edelgard get the Crest of Flames implanted within her?” Byleth asked. “I thought you needed Sothis’s heart and blood.” 

“You do, or you’d need the blood of one of her direct descendants like Seiros,” Nemesis frowned thoughtfully. “As for you, boy, I have no answers. Among all the vessels Seiros tried to make, you were the only successful one.” 

“Do I have Seiros’s blood in me?” Byleth looked down at the hand Edelgard wasn’t holding in hers. “Is that why I can host Sothis?” 

“It could be: your father has that blood,” Nemesis answered, Byleth’s head snapping up in alarm. “What, you couldn’t tell? It’s why he’s lived far beyond an ordinary mortal’s life, and Seiros seems fond of him, so I’d guess he was given an infusion of her blood when he was injured in the past.” 

“What about my mother?” Byleth was shaking, his grip on Edelgard’s hand tightening. 

“She was my previous host,” Sothis finally spoke up, her voice heavy. “When you were born of Seiros’s blood and my own, it created complications in the birth that nearly killed both you and your mother. Seiros took the Crest Stone out and implanted it in you to save your life, at your mother’s request, and the combination of that blood created what my daughter has been desperately trying to bring about: a perfect vessel for me.” 

Byleth’s face was pale, his eyes darting about as he absorbed the information that made Edelgard’s own head spin. 

“So, that answers that,” Nemesis growled, absently rubbing his beard. “Are you certain you don’t want to just kill the bitch? I doubt she’d see it coming, what with her believing you’re her loyal little Professor.” 

“No,” Byleth shook his head even though every part of Edelgard wanted to scream yes. “If I tried, then everything would fall apart and the Black Eagles would be targeted as well just for being my students.” 

Edelgard lightly squeezed his hand, her glove damp from the combined heat and perspiration. “Byleth, I... need to confess something to you.” 

“Don’t tell me: you’ve fallen in love with him and want him to be the Emperor Consort when you rule,” Nemesis muttered. “I told you not to get too close to her, boy.” 

“Shut up,” Byleth retorted, blissfully unaware of how red Edelgard’s face had gotten as her heart pounded in her chest and the heat of their Crests baked her from the inside. 

“T-that is not what I meant by confess!” Edelgard finally snapped after composing herself. “Byleth, I already know about Rhea: Hubert and I have been trying to find evidence of her corruption as well as the Church’s in order to spread word about their horrid deeds across Fodlan. We’ve been working with our classmates to expose Rhea, Seteth, and the others for what they truly are so the people can throw off the chains that these monsters have clamped around them.” 

“You knew?” Byleth’s bewildered expression faded into understanding. “I guess that makes sense... the Empire was created by Seiros, so I suppose it’s only logical that the Emperors would be aware of her origins.” 

He was much smarter than he appeared, the thought making Edelgard’s heart burn with pride. Or was that her Crest setting her on fire from the inside out? 

“It was passed down from Emperor to Emperor, and as the Imperial Princess, my father made me aware of Rhea’s identity so I would know just what the founder of the Empire truly was,” Edelgard nodded. “Will you join me, join us, in finding what we need to ensure that these monsters are removed from power?” 

“You want to expose Rhea and the upper echelon of the Church?” Byleth frowned, still shaking as his grip tightened. “How?” 

“We’ve been digging through everything we can to find evidence, and I was considering spreading rumors throughout the Empire about her real identity, but the rest of Fodlan is almost entirely enthralled to the Church. Without irrefutable evidence, they won’t believe us,” Edelgard swallowed the lump in her throat, found her mouth drier than a desert. 

“I... I don’ t know, El,” Byleth murmured. “This is a lot to take in all at once.” 

Understandable, especially after learning that his mother was the previous vessel and his father was who knows how old... 

“You needn’t decide at this moment, my teacher,” Edelgard said hurriedly. “It’s late, and we should be preparing for the mission, should we not?” 

“Honestly, I’d rather laze about eating sweets with you,” Byleth shook his head. 

“Then we shall know the joys of idling!” she declared, the words making her laugh as a smile formed unbidden on her lips. 

Byleth chuckled. “Just need to make sure Hubert doesn’t get in the way. Maybe I could make him clean the stables with Ferdinand or something.” 

Hope burst to life within Edelgard’s chest. “You would do that? That’s something I would love to see.” 

“As would I!” Sothis chimed in. “The dark one needs to be put in his place, does he not?” 

Even Nemesis snorted. “I suppose I can agree with that, so long as the boy keeps in mind what he’s supposed to be doing.” 

“Which is?” Byleth drawled, raising an eyebrow at the King of Liberation. 

“Keeping that scrawny body of yours fighting fit. That Raphael boy has the right idea, but he burns through too much energy all the time and requires too much food to compensate for it. A warrior needs to keep their strength up at all times.” 

“Edelgard’s smaller than me and could probably send me flying with a well-aimed blow,” Byleth pointed out. “She’s far stronger than she appears to be.” 

It took all of her self-control to not bury her head into her hands. 

“We shouldn’t linger any longer,” Edelgard reminded her teacher. “Unless you want to get caught after hours with a student in a secluded area.” 

Part of her wanted to stay like this, but that part was quickly silenced by the nearly unbearable heat. How was she not sweating enough to resemble a waterfall by now? 

“You have a point,” Byleth took his hand out of hers, and the spirits vanished. 

The heat faded considerably, and Edelgard exhaled slowly, her flesh tingling. 

“Let’s go, my teacher,” she started to walk at a brisk pace back towards the bridge, Byleth right behind her. 

Her head was swimming from the glut of information that Nemesis had divulged, but one thing remained crystal clear to her: Rhea would pay for what she’s done, not only to the world, but to Byleth. 

Edelgard would relish the day when she would split that dragon’s head open with an axe and put an end to her tyranny! 

As the duo approached the end of the bridge, flickering torchlight and clanking footsteps made Edelgard’s heart leap into her throat. 

“Why do I have to patrol back here, anyway?” the knight’s voice echoed down the hall. “Who in their right mind would be up at this hour?” 

He sounded tired and unmotivated: he wouldn’t look too hard for interlopers. There was a small niche in between the gate and the edge of the bridge, where guards sometimes stood to observe the traffic on the bridge, and Edelgard dashed for it. She wedged herself into place, glancing back to see Byleth starting towards the one on the opposite side when torchlight splashed across the bridge entrance. 

Byleth changed direction and dove into Edelgard’s hiding place, his body pressing against hers and filling her with his warmth. 

“See? Nothing,” the guard grumbled, yawning as the torchlight moved forward before vanishing down the hall. 

Edelgard was keenly aware of her pounding heart and the lack of it from Byleth, though she was almost disappointed when he pulled away and helped her out of their cramped hiding spot. 

“Sorry about that: he would have seen me if I’d tried to go across,” her teacher murmured. 

“No harm done,” she whispered back, his grin making her heart skip a beat. 

They crept out into the hall and found the guard passing through the Officer’s Academy, poking his head into the classrooms to check for curfew-breakers. 

“Go, go, go, go,” Byleth whispered, and the two dashed across the path as quietly as they could muster. 

Byleth peered around the corner of the wall once they reached the dorms and nodded to her. 

“It’s clear. No guards.” 

The duo rounded the corner and paused at the entrance of Byleth’s room. 

“Thank you for the walk, Byleth,” Edelgard whispered, not certain who could be nearby. “I have much to think about, but I believe I’ll sleep easier tonight. And... thank you for the dance.” 

He nodded, another one of his rare full smiles curving his lips. “It was nice. Be careful getting back to your room, El. Pleasant dreams to you.” 

He turned to the door, paused, then shook his head and slipped inside with nary a sound emanating from the hinges. Edelgard didn’t allow herself to wonder why he’d paused before hurrying towards the greenhouse and the stairs to the second floor. 

No knights stopped her, and she was able to get back to her room with no problems. She untied her shoes and set them aside, the rug plush against her feet until she settled herself back into the warm and soft embrace of her bed. 

As she stared up at the ceiling, trying to will sleep to claim her, Edelgard silently berated herself yet again for the way Byleth made her heart skip and her chest warm. 

She was the future Emperor, and she had a duty to the world. A silly little schoolgirl’s crush on her wonderful professor was hardly something she had the time for! 

Damn it all... 


	9. Cause of Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a rather long chapter: I couldn't decide on where to stop.

The world was on fire: flames licking ancient buildings and spewing dark pillars into the sky. People were screaming, their voices almost overturned by earsplitting roars as metal met metal. Byleth found himself in a canyon filled with burning buildings and flags, watching as green-haired people were run down and slaughtered all around him. 

“Die, you filthy beasts! Every last one of you!” Nemesis’s roaring voice drowned at the screams just for a moment, Byleth turning to see the King of Liberation tearing into his victims with savagery befitting a monster. 

“I surrender! Please don’t!” the man the King had cornered was lifting his arms in a pitiful attempt to shield himself, utter terror and helplessness shining in his emerald eyes. “Please don’t kill me!” 

Nemesis spat on the bloodstained ground before him, the contempt and rage in his eyes making Byleth break out in a cold sweat. “Gutless worm. You and the rest of your kind look down on us and see us as lowly creatures, yet here you are begging for your life at the feet of a mere mortal.” 

The bloodstained Sword of the Creator flashed red as it ripped into the cowering man’s body, his scream mingling with all the others. 

“What hell is this?” Byleth murmured, his throat going dry at the sight of a cadre of Nemesis’s soldiers surrounding and spearing a mother trying to shield her two children. 

“FILTHY MORTALS! YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS OUTRAGE!” a massive shadow fell across the canyon, followed by an earsplitting roar that shook the very air. 

Byleth looked up to see a massive four-legged dragon with deep blue scales diving towards the soldiers, an unknown Crest on its forehead, as it opened its maw wide. Flames guttered to life within that massive fanged throat, only for a glowing red arrow to sail upwards from nowhere and pierce the beast in the eye. 

The dragon roared in agony and flailed in midair as more glowing arrows pierced its scaled hide, crashing to the earth and plowing a funnel through burning buildings and cobbled stones. 

“Nice shot, Riegan!” Nemesis called, and a figure in the smoke lifted a glowing red bow in response to the call before vanishing amongst the carnage. 

“This one’s mine! I’ve only killed three of the beasts!” a War Master in a plumed helmet bayed, hefting an axe made of bone that erupted in red sparks as he sprinted towards the downed dragon. 

“Goneril! Ach, fine,” Nemesis turned his attention to where a bleeding woman was crawling across the ground, trying to get away from the rampaging soldiers. “Where do you think you’re going, wretch?” 

The woman stopped and craned her neck to glare at Nemesis, her fair features smeared with blood and dirt. “You’re a monster.” 

“And your kind aren’t?” Nemesis sneered, Byleth wincing as the King of Liberation stomped on the woman’s hand. 

She screamed in agony, the sickening crunch of her bones drawing a laugh from the warrior towering over her. 

“You’re all pathetic,” the king spat. “I’d expected more from the savage creatures who’d ravaged my home, but this...” 

“We didn’t agree with that,” the woman sobbed as she writhed beneath his boot. “Not all of us sanctioned that massacre! We wanted peace! To work things out with you!” 

“Right, and Sothis was just a little girl who wanted to play nice with everyone,” Nemesis drawled, looking up as another dragon landed heavily in the debacle somewhere else, spewing flames and roaring enough to shake the very earth. “You beasts have no place to be declaring yourselves as gods.” 

“You call us beasts?” the woman was shaking as she looked up at Nemesis, the hatred in her eyes making her serpentine pupils smolder. “Look around you, King of Liberation, and see who’s really the animal here.” 

Byleth looked up to the black skies and saw a pegasus knight dancing through the air, being chased by a dragon with bright yellow-green scales. As he watched, the pegasus banked sharply, tucking in its wings and plummeting just as the dragon’s fangs clipped shut just where the animal and rider had been just a heartbeat before. The dragon lurched clumsily, trying to correct its course, only for its exposed neck to be pierced by a gleaming lance as the pegasus snapped its wings out and caught a draft from the flames, rocketing up past its larger adversary. 

A smaller wyvern emerged from the smoke behind the dragon as it roared and lashed out at the nimbler pegasus, whose rider lifted a glowing red shield to deflect the wicked claws of its attacker. A barrier of red light flared around the shield, shrieking as it took the dragon’s attack, and the rider of the wyvern brought an unusual, massive red hammer down on the dragon’s head. Bone crunched, and the dragon dropped out of the sky as if it had run into an invisible wall before crashing within the burning city. Both fliers nodded to one another before spurring their mounts into a pillar of black smoke and vanishing. 

“Fraldarius and Dominic have the run of the skies, eh? Good,” Nemesis rumbled, his gaze going down to the woman. “As for you-” 

A desperate, feral scream ripped from her throat as she thrust her undamaged hand upwards, a jet of white-hot flames slamming into Nemesis’s chest and sending him staggering backwards. 

The King of Liberation swore and glared down at the dark burn now marring his right pectoral, then chuckled as he shook his head and strode back to the panting, exhausted woman. “If that’s all you can muster, then this will end quickly. You got me by surprise, but you aimed too low. I admire your courage, however.” 

The woman opened her fanged mouth and cursed at Nemesis until the Sword of the Creator silenced her. 

“Take a look, boy!” Nemesis’s next words made Byleth jolt, his heart leaping into his throat as he turned to see the bloodstained king looking at him, a vicious smirk on his lips. “Is this not a glorious sight to behold?” 

Byleth looked down at the woman the king had just butchered, then to the speared corpses of the mother and her children. “There’s nothing glorious about mass murder.” 

“Hmph, you mean the extermination of tyrannical beasts who fancied themselves as gods,” Nemesis growled. “They started this, boy.” 

“But that woman clearly said that not all the dragons agreed with the attack on your homeland,” Byleth pointed out. “And you murdered an unarmed man who’d surrendered while your soldiers were spearing children.” 

“This... is what happened to Zanado?” Sothis appeared in a burst of green light, her eyes wide with horror as she took in the slaughter. 

She knelt by the frozen form of the woman who’d blasted Nemesis, her hand reaching out as if to caress the empty, blank face. 

“And you helped me do it, Goddess,” Nemesis gestured to the bloody Sword of the Creator still in his grasp. “You were the weapon I used to exterminate your own kin.” 

“How do you justify this slaughter, King of Liberation?” Sothis looked up at him, her eyes blazing with green fire. “This murder?!” 

Nemesis laughed harshly. “You didn’t see the corpses of my people set ablaze by dragonfire or shredded by claws and fangs. You didn’t see the way the filthy creatures-” 

“Nothing can justify this!” Sothis shot up to her little feet, trembling as she clenched tiny fists and glared up at the King of Liberation. “The dragons who’d wronged your people deserved to be punished, yes, but not the innocents who had nothing to do with the bloodshed!” 

“Innocent? There was no such thing as an innocent dragon,” Nemesis scoffed. 

“Not even the children?” Sothis asked, her voice lowering into a growl. 

“And you killed them all just because you hated the dragons who’d driven you out of your home?” Byleth asked, Nemesis’s burning gaze turning to him. 

“They deserved it: every last one of them,” the King of Liberation snarled. “They murdered my people, so I murdered theirs.” 

“And if the dragons who had nothing to do with the slaughter sought revenge for what you’d done to their families?” Sothis continued. “Would you have killed them saying they deserved it, too?” 

“As a king and as a warrior, I was duty-bound to bring the beasts to justice, no matter who they were,” Nemesis spat. “I don’t expect you to-” 

“What nonsense! Duty as a king? Pride as a warrior?!” Sothis levitated so she could stare the king in his face, going nose-to-nose with a man almost twenty times her size. “Sounds like an excuse to let your hate run rampant to me, boy!” 

Nemesis’s eyes blazed, his jaw clenching and his breathing coming in heavier as he glowered at Sothis, pure hate emanating from every pore on his body. “My hate is what-” 

“Drove you to kill innocent people by the hundreds, if not thousands, just because a few egotistical dragons decided to usurp you,” Sothis interrupted, continuing her verbal assault. “You deserve to be called a villain! A monster! You once said you had a thousand years to think back on your arrogance and try to fix it, but the truth is: you were angry that you underestimated Seiros and got killed by her, so you spent a thousand years trying to think of ways to kill her!” 

“You claim you want to protect mankind, but that didn’t stop you from enslaving us!” Nemesis roared, his voice shaking the firmament of the dream. “That didn’t stop your children from creating a Church with the sole purpose of consolidating power!” 

“I never wanted them to do that!” Sothis yelled back into his face, not backing down in the slightest. 

“Can I wake up now?” Byleth asked, rapidly growing weary of the two deities screaming at each other. “This is not what I wanted to dream about.” 

“If you can’t appreciate a warrior’s triumph, then I won’t waste my breath,” the King of Liberation waved his hand and everything vanished into a black void. 

Byleth willed himself to awake and the darkness split, finding himself back in his room. He sat up, covers falling away from his chest as he swung his legs out and stood. 

One more day until the mission, and Byleth sighed as he ran a hand through his messy hair. Why did he have such a bad feeling about this? 

Maybe that was just Sothis and Nemesis inside of him, the Crest Stone warmer than usual and rippling with energy. He hoped he wouldn’t explode. 

A knock resounded on his door, his bleary eyes glancing over to the window where the sun was shining quite brilliantly through the glass. 

“Professor, are you awake?” it was Edelgard. “It’s past noon! You can’t possibly still be asleep!” 

Past noon?! He’d been sleeping that long?! 

Maybe it was normal for Linhardt, but this was the longest he’d ever gone asleep. 

“I’m up!” he called, grimacing at the stench emanating from his underarms and sweat-stained shirt. 

“That’s a relief! I’d feared something was wrong,” Edelgard’s voice came back through. “Are you feeling well, my teacher?” 

“To an extent, yes,” Byleth muttered, sorely wishing he’d had the time to bathe and rid himself of this stench before greeting anyone. 

Silence, and he could almost feel the gears turning in the Adrestian princess’s head. 

“Did you just wake up from an unpleasant dream?” she asked. 

Byleth sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Yes, I did. And I smell terrible.” 

“Go clean yourself up and come up to my dorm,” Edelgard commanded, apparently unaware of how it sounded. “I need to talk to you.” 

“Um, okay,” Byleth heard her walk away. “I guess she doesn’t want to be overheard.” 

He hurriedly gathered up his armor, slipped into his boots and stepped out of the room, wincing at the bright sunlight piercing his eyes as he did. The air was warm and still, almost stagnating in the heat radiating from the burning ball blasting the earth with golden light. 

“Woah, Professor, you look like you just woke up!” Hilda was standing outside the baths, her face paling as she inhaled. “And you smell awful!” 

“That’s why I’m here,” Byleth said drily. “And it’s nice to see you too, Hilda.” 

The girl nodded. “I’m just going to... um... go somewhere else.” 

She walked away, trying her hardest to not screw up her face at his unholy stench. 

Byleth entered the men’s baths and glanced around and set his clothes aside before looking around the water basins used for bathing. There was nobody else present, thankfully, so he removed his clothes and settled himself into the water. 

Fire magic came to life beneath the basin, warming the water and enveloping him in a comfortable embrace of heat. Byleth sighed and sank further into the wooden basin, which had been worn smooth by countless bodies. Part of him wanted to stay in this wonderful heated bliss forever, but he didn’t want to keep Edelgard waiting. 

Byleth grabbed one of the provided bars of soap and hurriedly began scrubbing his bare body down, ignoring how the roughened material scraped against his flesh. He scrubbed until he was certain his flesh would be red and raw but the stench had mercifully been eradicated. 

Water sloshed around him as he rose and dragged himself through the bathhouse, the grip of the air turning to ice on his body the moment he left the water’s warm embrace. He toweled himself off quickly and covered himself with his black mercenary garb, the apparel snug on his body. 

He laced his boots back up and strode out of the bathhouse, his hair still a bit damp and his nightclothes in desperate need of being washed in the laundry. Byleth would deal with that later. 

“Hey, Professor!” a soldier was standing outside, his white armor immaculate and surcoat gleaming as he tipped his helmet in greeting. “Lady Rhea wanted me to check on you and see how you were feeling!” 

Seiros... what is your game? Were you expressing concern over Byleth or over the vessel she was hoping to create? 

“I appreciate the concern and I apologize for the imposition,” Byleth nodded back, keeping his nightclothes hung in the crook of his arm. “I’m feeling fine.” 

The soldier smiled and shook his head. “It’s no problem at all, Professor! I’m glad to see that you’re back on your feet and doing well!” 

With that, the man turned and clanked away, leaving Byleth to return to his room in peace to deposit his dirty clothes. He ducked in, threw the offending garments into a basket to take to the launder in town, and shut the door behind him. 

“Professor?” Bernadetta’s timid voice made him turn, the girl fidgeting as she fiddled with her hands. “H-how are you feeling?” 

“It was your turn to check on me?” Byleth guessed, placing the warm and gentle smile that always seemed to put her at ease upon his lips. 

Edelgard had, shortly after the day he’d awakened, cobbled together a schedule in which the Black Eagle students would take turns throughout the days to check on Byleth whenever they weren’t occupied by lectures, training, or classwork. If Bernie was here, that meant that Ferdinand would be knocking on his door within the next couple hours. 

“Yes! Not that I mind!” the girl clutched at her skirt, her purple eyes glancing back and forth in search of threats. 

“Well, thank you, Bernadetta,” Byleth reached out and ruffled her messy hair, earning a little whine from her before he withdrew his hand. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay! I’ll just be going now!” she rattled off almost too quickly for him to understand and scurried away, giving a wide berth to the other students she passed by. 

She’s come quite a ways, hasn’t she? He was proud of her: she didn’t scream when he called on her or faint whenever he corrected her stance in the training grounds. And the last time the class had sparred against him, Bernadetta had actually been close to hitting him with her shots. At least she was able to fire at him without screaming apologies and begging for him to not kill her. 

Byleth shook his head and started walking towards the greenhouse, his boots clicking against stone with each step. Students were sitting on the benches paralleling the dormitories, chattering away or lazing about and enjoying the pleasant afternoon. 

Afternoon. He’d slept far beyond what he’d intended. 

He walked past Bernadetta’s room after descending to the lower level and heard her talking rapidly to herself, congratulating herself for doing well for the professor. His lips curved into a smirk and he chuckled, his chest warming with something that didn’t feel like Sothis or the Crest Stone implanted over his heart. 

Byleth saw Cyril trimming the topiary bushes in front of the greenhouse and called a greeting to the boy, who merely waved a hand in response before getting back to his work. Alois was back at the pond, casting a line into the water while his voice echoed through the monastery. 

“I will catch a fish this month! You just wait and see!” 

Byleth shook his head, chuckling at the knight’s shameless enthusiasm. His heart was in the right place even if he didn’t quite succeed. 

He walked on, turning at the greenhouse and tracing the steps he’d taken with Edelgard the day after Hubert’s assassination attempt. 

“Oh, Professor!” Ingrid and Felix were standing in the halls of the dormitory along with gaggles of other students. “Are you feeling well?” 

“Seems like everyone is asking me that, but yes,” Byleth nodded. 

Felix rolled his eyes while Ingrid smiled and shook her head. 

“Well, you did survive your sword exploding, so of course we’re going to be concerned about you,” the aspiring knight said. 

“It seems like that’s all everyone’s talking about nowadays,” Felix shook his head. “Are you going to spar with me soon?” 

Ingrid speared her old friend with her elbow, drawing a whuff of air from his lungs. “Felix, he’s still recovering! Is fighting all you can think about even at times like this?” 

“Is food all you can think about at times like this?” Felix retorted, rubbing his abdomen. “I recall you blathering on about lunch just a few moments before.” 

“Ah, there you are!” Edelgard mercifully inserted herself into the conversation, her pale violet eyes seeking out Byleth’s own. “I hope you do not mind reviewing some of my notes with me. They’re just in my chambers.” 

“My office wouldn’t have sufficed?” Byleth asked. 

The princess gave a bitter smile and shook her head. “Alas, the magnitude of what I’d written would have required several trips if I was to go to your office.” 

Byleth chuckled, trying to keep the ruse up. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.” 

To the two Kingdom nobles, he nodded before following Edelgard into her room. Contrary to what she’d claimed, there was no mountain of notes demanding his attention: in fact, the room was as neat and orderly as always, with a steaming tea kettle set to the side. 

“Lock the door,” Edelgard reminded him, and he obeyed. 

The Silence rune flared to life, and Edelgard set out two saucers with cups for both of them. 

“Now, what was this dream about?” she asked, filling both cups with the blend. 

“Bergamot?” Byleth recognized the peculiar scent. “It is your favorite, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” 

Edelgard gave him a wry smile and took a sip, her gaze never leaving him, prompting him to answer. 

“Nemesis,” he finally said, easing himself into the chair and staring down at the dark liquid swirling in the cup before him. “He showed me his memories of the slaughter at Zanado.” 

Edelgard frowned and set her cup down. “His memories?” 

“I watched the settlement burn around me while Nemesis and the Elites slaughtered everyone in their way,” Byleth answered, the taste of ash and blood tainting his mouth. 

He picked up his cup and took a sip, but the brew tasted of death and almost made him gag. He quickly set it down, Edelgard frowning at his haste. 

“So, I was correct in my thoughts: he didn’t just kill the adult dragons but their children as well, along with everyone else in Zanado,” the princess murmured, setting her own cup down. “Such indiscriminate slaughter...” 

“It was hell,” Byleth said, the visions of fire and death flashing in his mind’s eye. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Byleth... but did Nemesis say anything to you?” Edelgard asked, her sharp gaze never leaving his face. 

“He was proud of what he’d done, even after I’d watch him cut down two unarmed people in cold blood,” Byleth shook his head, but the visions persisted. “One had surrendered only to be murdered on the spot.” 

“It was a massacre, pure and simple, and not a battle?” Edelgard absently drummed her fingers on the table’s polished surface. “No wonder Seiros was so desperate to get revenge. If she, Seteth and Flayn survived it, then...” 

“I don’t think Seteth or Flayn were present for the massacre,” Byleth spoke up. “The legends say that Cichol and Cethleann were recruited by Seiros after the Empire was founded. She must have sought out other survivors and tried to bolster their strength against Nemesis.” 

“That is what they say, but how much of what the Church says can we know to be truth?” Edelgard pointed out, halting her fingers’ movements. 

“I didn’t see either of them in the vision, and Nemesis would certainly have made it a point to show me that if they had been in Zanado,” Byleth swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, found it again tasting of ash. 

Edelgard pushed her chair back, making the legs grate against the floor, and walked around to Byleth, offering him her hand. 

“What are you hoping for?” he asked, curiosity piquing his mind. 

“A chat,” she answered, her eyes gleaming with rare mischief. “With one of your two guests.” 

Something told him that wasn’t all she wanted, but... Byleth intertwined their fingers, his Crest warming his blood at their touch. They looked around the room, but neither the Goddess nor the King of Liberation made an appearance. 

“Um... Sothis might still be verbally flaying Nemesis alive... or whatever you call their spectral states,” Byleth frowned, reaching out mentally to his two headaches and receiving no answer. “Nothing.” 

Edelgard frowned. “They’re fighting? Do you feel strange at all? Unusual?” 

“Aside from my blood warming at our touch, not really,” Byleth looked at his student, found her staring at him. “Do I have something on my face?” 

She averted her gaze to her desk, and Byleth realized that she had a veritable mountain of sweets and candies in a basket on the floor next to it. 

“Is today the day?” he asked her, gesturing at the sweets. 

Her face reddened, but her lips curled into an embarrassed smile. “It is, yes. I wouldn’t complain if you were to join me for a time, however.” 

“I’d be honored to join you, El,” Byleth grinned at her, hoping to put her at ease. “I hope I am not troubling you.” 

Her eyes widened, her grip on his hand tightening marginally. “Of course not! Spending time with you is never troubling, my teacher!” 

“Thank you,” his chest warmed again, more than the rest of his blood. 

“I may vomit,” Nemesis’s rumbling voice cut through the air as the King of Liberation materialized, his arms folded before his chest as he glared at Edelgard. 

“Running away from Sothis?” Byleth asked in retort, a hint of satisfaction flickering within him at the flash of fear in the ancient king’s eyes. 

“That little brat hasn’t stop screaming at me or berating me for being a savage,” Nemesis grunted. “Like a dragon goddess understands the pride of a warrior.” 

“There’s no pride in murdering unarmed civilians en masse,” Edelgard said icily. “Even if they are dragonkind.” 

Nemesis turned his glare to Edelgard. “Be quiet, lovestruck princess. If you keep going down the path I see you traveling, you’ll be doing the exact same thing.” 

Edelgard’s grip tightened again, making his hand twinge with faint needles of pain. “You dare-” 

“Edelgard isn’t you,” the words escaped Byleth before he even knew what he was doing, making both gazes lock onto him. “She is ambitious, yes, but she’s not going to sacrifice innocent people to get what she wants. She’s better than that.” 

Edelgard’s eyes flickered with some emotion that he couldn’t quite place, her gaze turning away as her grip faltered. “Byleth... I...” 

“Are you really that blind, boy?” Nemesis grumbled. “I can already see the blood that will be shed by your hand, future Emperor. You will walk in my footsteps, whether you want to or not.” 

“Can you see the future?” Byleth asked, an odd protective instinct flaring within him. “I don’t think you do, so be quiet.” 

The vein pulsed on Nemesis’s forehead again. “You’re treading on dangerous ground, boy, fraternizing with her.” 

“You don’t know El like I do,” Byleth continued. “She isn’t going to be the next Nemesis.” 

A strange noise came from Edelgard’s throat at his words, her expression tight and guarded as she looked at him again. “My teacher...” 

“We’ll see, boy. When the axe is at your throat and you find yourself standing against everything you thought you’d believed, tell me if your answer is the same,” Nemesis rumbled. 

“There you are!” Sothis announced her presence with a flash of green, her anger-filled eyes locked onto her prey. “Running will not save you from me!” 

“Stop it, you damn brat! Just leave me be!” Nemesis vanished, his presence fleeing back within Byleth. 

“Oh no you don’t! I will not stop until I have picked your little warrior brain clean!” Sothis gave chase, vanishing in her pursuit of the King of Liberation. 

“Well, that was unusual,” Byleth muttered. “Are you okay, El?” 

She didn’t answer as she pulled her hand from his, her gaze distant as she sat back down in her chair and stared at her cooling tea. 

“El?” Byleth frowned: what could he say that could bring her out of the dark thoughts plaguing her? 

His blood cooled from the broken contact, his gaze picking out the sweets basket tucked by Edelgard’s desk, and an idea struck him. He pushed the chair back and stood, Edelgard’s head lifting at the legs scraping the floor. 

“Byleth?” her voice was slow, hesitant, completely unlike her. 

Byleth stooped to examine the basket’s contents, picking out a pair of cookies dotted with chunks of chocolate and rising. He walked over and offered one to Edelgard, whose face slowly began to light back up as she accepted the treat. 

“Come on: let’s laze around and gorge ourselves on sweets,” he said. 

With that said, he lifted his own cookie and sank his teeth into it. The chocolate melted in his mouth as the crust crumbled beneath his teeth, engulfing his taste buds with sugary sweetness. He chewed slowly, savoring the taste, then swallowed once he was able to. It didn’t taste like ash or blood, thank Sothis. 

“Delectable,” he drawled, and Edelgard gave a short laugh. 

“Well, if you put it like that...” she bit into her own cookie, her face melting into an expression of ecstasy as she chewed. 

The princess sank her teeth more ravenously into the treat, devouring it in a few more bites and licking the chocolate smeared across her fingers. 

Byleth laughed. “I should have brought you sweets sooner.” 

She scowled at him, realizing what she’d been doing and lowering her hand. “Why is that?” 

“Because you look so carefree and happy,” he answered, the warmth in his chest intensifying. “It’s nice to see this side of you.” 

Her cheeks burned red, rivaling her surrounding comforter, rug and cape. “That was the most embarrassing thing you could have said... but thank you, my teacher.” 

Byleth picked up the basket and set it on the table, careful to not knock over the now-cool tea. “We have a lot to go through, don’t we?” 

“Indeed we do, but I think we’re up to the task!” Edelgard laughed, a bright, wondrous thing with her joyful smile. 

Then her gaze hardened, her expression growing sour. “Did... did you mean what you said? That you believe that I won’t... become the next Nemesis?” 

“I believe you’ll do great things, Edelgard, and make the world a better place while you’re at it,” Byleth nodded, seating himself back down. “Don’t let Nemesis get to you.” 

“Didn’t Sothis say I was your favorite student, earlier?” Edelgard asked, a teasing edge entering her voice. 

“She did,” Byleth nodded, his pulse pounding his head. “And she wasn’t wrong, but don’t think that means I give you preferential treatment.” 

Edelgard huffed, barely keeping her laugh contained as her face lit up again. “So, this isn’t preferential treatment? You gorging yourself on sweets in my room with me?” 

“I like gorging myself on sweets with people I care about,” Byleth drawled. “But it is a plus that it’s you.” 

She looked away, face turning even redder, and Byleth recalled something Nemesis had said. He’d called Edelgard a ‘lovestruck princess’... and Manuela had pointed out Edelgard’s odd behavior around Byleth when she thought nobody was looking. 

Him? Did they mean that the object of Edelgard’s affections was him? But he was her teacher... her professor. Was that even appropriate? 

“Do I... make you uncomfortable?” he asked slowly. 

Her head snapped back to him. “No, not at all! Whatever gave you that impression?” 

“Well, you always seem flustered around me when it’s just the two of us, and Nemesis did call you a ‘lovestruck princess’,” Byleth frowned. 

He knew very little about matters of the heart, having experienced next to nothing in regards to it, but he’d seen enough of the mercenary company flirting and interacting with women to see how they tended to behave around someone they liked. Or pretended they liked, maybe. Jeralt never really... talked to him about that kind of thing and he never really felt anything to pique his interest outside of mercenary work. 

“Ignore that!” Edelgard blurted, shaking her head and sending her white hair all over the place. “I have no idea what he’s talking about.” 

“El, you’re a terrible liar,” Byleth deadpanned, keeping his face devoid of all emotion as he looked at his student. 

“Shut up!” she seethed, turning even redder even as she plucked a candy from the basket, unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth, chewing furiously. 

He found himself staring at Edelgard, at how flushed she’d become and at the embarrassment shining in her violet eyes. What was it that made him feel so comfortable and... different, around her? 

Either way, this was a welcome change from the horrid dream that had awoken him. 

Byleth picked out what he thought was called a jelly bean and popped it into his mouth, experimentally puncturing it with his teeth and almost gagging at the overwhelming sweetness that gushed from it. Lysithea would love these things. 

“Byleth, forgive me for snapping at you,” Edelgard spoke up after several minutes of the duo just snacking on the various cakes and sweets. “I... was embarrassed by how easily you saw through me. I’m supposed to be the peerless, indomitable heiress of the Empire, yet I am reduced to a blathering schoolgirl whenever it’s just the two of us.” 

“You’re allowed to be a blathering schoolgirl, El, especially if it’s just us,” Byleth grinned at her. “I think you’re adorable when you’re flustered like this.” 

“Can you stop teasing me?” she groaned, burying her face in her hands. “What did I do to deserve this blasted crush?” 

The last two words made both of them freeze, Edelgard letting out a little squeak and slumping against the table. 

“You have a crush on me?” it was... strange to hear the words directly from her mouth, but it also made him feel lighter and happy. 

“No, I... I mean, that is to say... why did I have to go and say that?” the princess murmured, almost radiating embarrassed heat. 

“Manuela already gave me her thoughts on the matter,” Byleth mused. “She thought it was adorable how your face lit up when you thought nobody saw you looking at me.” 

“S-she told you that?!” Edelgard didn’t look up but seemed to shrink even more. “And here I thought I was being discrete.” 

“Manuela has her ways,” Byleth said, uncertainty walloping him. 

What was he going to do now? About this... about... them? He was fond of Edelgard, yes, but was this even appropriate? Part of him reasoned that he was just a mercenary being paid to be a teacher, but Edelgard was still his student. 

“I’m sorry, Byleth. I know me developing these feelings is utterly inappropriate and unnecessary, but I... I just...” Edelgard lifted her beet-red face and wrestled with her words, defeat in her gaze as she came to the realization that she couldn’t put this off further. “I hope you do not feel disgusted by me... given that I’m your student.” 

“I’m flattered, to be honest,” Byleth answered, impulse guiding him to reach out and lightly squeeze Edelgard’s hand. “But also curious. What about me do you like? I know I’m not the most expressive person and I’ve been told numerous times that it was a mystery if I was even human because I just never had emotions.” 

“The Ashen Demon, I know: a mercenary with no emotion who left battlefields littered with the corpses of his enemies in his wake wherever he went, fighting and killing while his face never changed from a blank, stony visage,” Edelgard shook her head, her fingers closing around Byleth’s. “That was what I’d thought at first, too, but after spending so much time with you in the monastery and fighting by your side throughout the months, I’ve come to see just what kind of person you really are.” 

His blood was heating again as it oft did when they were in physical contact, but it was more subdued than before. 

“You’re unfathomably kind and always willing to help people no matter what, and your emotions are rare to see on your face, but they’re so captivating when they are, especially when... when you smile,” she lowered her gaze, staring at their intertwined hands. “I cannot believe I’m saying this. Is this a dream? Am I in a sugar-induced coma right now?” 

“You’re awake,” Byleth answered, his pulse filling his ears with its steady beat. 

“So I am,” Edelgard sighed. “But I am happy that is the case... with you, Byleth, I can just be Edelgard. Not a princess or student or heir of an Empire, but just simply Edelgard the girl.” 

She waved her free hand at the dwindling sweets mountain and at the growing pile of paper wrappers accumulating around it. “I mean, could you possibly think of anyone else I’d do this with?” 

“Lysithea?” Byleth guessed, earning a scowl from the red-faced princess. “I’m teasing.” 

“Oh, me baring my heart is funny to you?” she demanded, her lowered walls slowly starting to rise again. 

“No, of course not,” Byleth shook his head, lightly squeezing her hand again. “Forgive me: I’ve never... had someone talking about their feelings for me like this before.” 

The walls hesitated, Edelgard relaxing despite the flush still painting her face and ears red. “Forgive me...” 

“I should be asking you that,” Byleth chuckled. 

“How... do you feel about me?” Edelgard asked hesitantly, unable to keep the fear and concern out of her voice. 

“I think you’re an incredible person and I admit I am more than a little fond of you,” Byleth recalled what he’d said to Nemesis and Sothis that one night they’d accosted him while he was grading late at night. “You’re very special to me, El. You’re brave, kind, and so strong despite the horrors you’ve endured, but I must say I treasure the moments when you lower your guard and just become an ordinary girl when it’s just us.” 

“Keep talking like that and I may just have to ask you to stay by my side when I return to Adrestia,” Edelgard warned, a smirk on her lips before it faded. “Do you find me... attractive?” 

Did he? When he looked at her, her long stark white hair and brilliant, piercing violet eyes were often what drew his gaze, but it was the way those eyes lit up and how her lips curled into a smile that held it. It was her sharp intellect and kind heart that made him spend hours talking to her over tea in the gardens. 

“I do,” was the only answer he could give her. 

“I... feel the same way about you,” Edelgard fidgeted, her tongue as tied as his own as they fell into an awkward silence. “What do we do now?” 

“I don’t really know,” Byleth admitted, fully aware of their still clasped hands. “I’m still waiting to see if Nemesis shows up to yell at me again.” 

Edelgard rolled her eyes, a small smile curving her lips as she looked at the sweets and candies still in the basket. “Well, we do still have some candy to go through.” 

“And a chapel to investigate tomorrow,” Byleth reminded her, reaching out and taking another small cookie. 

Edelgard snatched it from his hand, a playful smirk on her lips as she devoured the treat and left crumbs all over her mouth. 

Byleth chuckled. “Really, El?” 

She picked up a handkerchief and dabbed at the mess she’d left, clearing away the crumbs before setting it down. “Yes. I... think I have held you for long enough, would you not say? I would love to have you all to myself for the rest of the day, but I fear people may talk if this continues.” 

“People will always talk, but I agree,” Byleth sighed. “I have some forms I need to fill out that I’ve been putting off for far too long.” 

And he had to be somewhat productive, did he not? 

“You, a procrastinator?” Edelgard gasped in mock horror, hiding her smile behind a hand held up to her mouth as if in shock. “I never would have guessed.” 

Byleth rolled his eyes and pulled his hand from hers, pushing himself to stand despite the desire to remain burning through him. Unless that was just the blood slowly cooling from breaking contact with Edelgard. 

She hurriedly got to her own feet, stashing the basket back by her desk after stuffing the wrappers into it. She then put the cold, untouched tea aside before placing a large notebook on the table along with an inkwell and quill. 

“I asked for you to look at my notes, remember?” she asked when she caught his confused look. 

“Ah, right,” Byleth nodded, striding towards the door. 

“I’m glad we had this talk, Byleth,” Edelgard caught his hand in hers, making him stop and turn to face her as his Crest warmed yet again. “It certainly wasn’t what I’d initially planned, but I’m happy nonetheless.” 

“As am I. Enjoy the rest of your lazy day, but try not to give yourself a stomachache with all that, okay?” Byleth nodded towards the basket. 

Edelgard nodded. “I’ll be certain to pace myself. Have a good day, my teacher.” 

She tugged his hand towards her, standing on her tiptoes while forcing Byleth to lean down to accommodate for her grip. All he registered next was the impossibly soft sensation of her lips pressing against his cheek before she let go and stepped back, her cheeks burning even redder than before. 

“I hope I didn’t overstep,” she said, clenching and unclenching her hands while nervous energy overran her. 

“Not at all,” Byleth was about to say more when a knock on the door made him pause. 

“Lady Edelgard, have you seen the professor?” Hubert’s urgent voice reached them. “Sir Jeralt and Sir Alois are desperately trying to locate him.” 

“My father’s back?” Byleth frowned, glancing at the still-red face of Edelgard as she visibly fought to get her body back under her control. 

“Answer the door! I’ll look as if I was reading,” she ordered, pushing the two chairs closer together and opening her notebook after she’d seated herself in the chair Byleth had vacated. 

“You still have crumbs on your face,” Byleth noted, and she hurriedly wiped at her mouth with her sleeve while he went for the door. 

He unlocked it, letting the Silence rune die, then opened the door. Hubert jolted on the other side, his eyes narrowing with suspicion and dislike as he looked behind Byleth to see Edelgard with her back to the door, focus locked onto her notes, ever the hardworking student. 

“My father’s looking for me?” Byleth asked, nodding to Edelgard. “She’d asked me to look over some of her notes from the last couple of lectures, to clarify a few things.” 

“I see what you mean now, Professor,” Edelgard announced, tapping a page with her finger while carefully keeping her face averted so as to hide her flush from Hubert. “If we are to best utilize the terrain, then it would be most prudent to have the cavalry act as the army’s eyes and ears.” 

“Precisely. I know there are risks to the scouts regarding provisions and danger from inserting so deep into enemy territory, but cavalry has a better chance of quickly locating the enemy army and their supply chains before making their escape,” Byleth fell into the discussion easily. “But I digress. Hubert: where are my father and Alois?” 

Hubert looked as if he were plotting a thousand ways to murder Byleth in his sleep, but Edelgard clearing her throat with an unspoken warning made the vassal step aside to let Byleth leave. “Your father is in the dining hall, asking people if they’ve seen you. It seems urgent, so I’d track him down quickly.” 

Byleth nodded. “Thank you, Hubert. Can I count on you to help Edelgard with this later?” 

“Of course. Her Highness has but to ask,” Hubert seemed to buy it, giving a stiff bow. 

“Should I get the class together and ready to deploy?” Edelgard asked, glancing over her shoulder at Byleth. 

Her gaze was sharp, keen and commanding, already back under the guise she’d worked so hard to perfect. 

“Yes. We might be leaving sooner than anticipated if both my father and Alois are urgently looking for me,” Byleth nodded to both Imperials and hurried down the hallway. 

His cheek still tingled with the faint echoes of Edelgard’s kiss as he made his way to the dining hall, relief sparking within his chest at the sight of his father talking to Caspar. 

“Oh, there he is!” the boy waved at Byleth. “Professor! Over here!” 

Jeralt ignored the fact that Caspar nearly smacked him and turned to his son. “We have to go, now.” 

“What’s wrong?” Byleth frowned, wishing he’d brought his sword with him. 

“Another group of students has gone missing and now there’s reports of Demonic Beasts emerging from the chapel,” Jeralt frowned. “I know we were supposed to do this last week, after the ball, but the explosion with your sword and your wellbeing took priority over everything else. Rhea sent me on another quick mission too, probably figured I’d be too worried about you if I hung around the monastery. Get your equipment ready and meet me at the entrance hall.” 

“Yes, father,” Byleth turned to Caspar. “Same orders for you. Get your gear and tell everyone you can to do the same.” 

“Sure thing, Professor!” he ran off, feet pounding the stone floor before he passed out of sight. 

“Make it quick,” Jeralt placed a rough, callused hand on Byleth’s shoulder. “You sure you’re feeling up to this? I was told you had several broken ribs from the blast.” 

“I’m recovered but I’ll take it easy on the battlefield,” Byleth all but sprinted back to his room, narrowly managing to avoid plowing anyone over as he darted from the western courtyard to the dormitories. 

He glimpsed Edelgard and Hubert trying to get Bernadetta out of her room before he reached his door and pushed it open. He grabbed some vulneraries and stuffed them into his satchel before slinging it over his shoulder and grabbing the Sword of the Creator. 

The weapon hummed in his grasp, filling him with power as he hooked it to his sword belt. With that done, Byleth left his room and shut the door behind him, then turned and nearly ran headlong into Ferdinand, who was dressed in his cavalier armor and black cuirass. 

“Ah, Professor, my apologies!” he was shouldering his lance, the curved steel head gleaming in the sunlight as he angled the weapon skywards. “I was coming back from an exercise with my horse when Caspar came running by, telling me to meet everyone by the main gates.” 

“Demonic Beasts are appearing at the chapel we’re supposed to investigate tomorrow, so we’re changing plans again,” Byleth explained. “We’re moving out now.” 

Ferdinand nodded, a bit of fear entering his eyes at the mention of Demonic Beasts. Poor fool had nearly gotten himself killed trying to fight two of the creatures a while back in a desperate attempt to convince Byleth of the noble’s superiority over Edelgard. 

If Byleth hadn’t been there, Ferdinand would have become a snack for the beasts. 

“Right away!” the nobleman puffed out his chest in a show of bravado and hurried off in a cacophony of clanking armor and rattling mail. 

“I think that’s everyone, Professor,” Edelgard and Hubert approached. “We just sent Bernadetta and Petra towards the rendezvous and I think Caspar’s shouting enough to let the entire monastery know what we’re doing.” 

“Ferdinand might get lucky with Linhardt, maybe,” Byleth commented, noting how quickly she’d gone from flustered girl to imperious princess. 

It was impressive, to say the least. 

Edelgard nodded grimly. “I just need to grab my armor and shield from the storehouse and I’ll join you as quickly as I can. Come, Hubert!” 

Lord and vassal hurried off, Edelgard betraying her worry with a glance back so quick Byleth had almost missed it. Sothis and Nemesis said nothing as Byleth hurried towards the main gates, soldiers and students watching him with worried gazes. 

“Professor, my friends might be at the chapel. You’ll save them, won’t you?” one student who he’d seen plastering missing persons posters around the monastery asked, clutching one such poster to his chest. 

“I will,” Byleth nodded before skirting the fishing pond and making a beeline towards the main gates. 

Petra and Dorothea were standing in front of the market stalls, examining the wares while Ashe was describing something to both of them. 

“Now, Petra, if you really want to get a bargain, try to- oh, Professor!” the boy looked up at Byleth’s approach. “I hope I’m not intruding!” 

“It’s fine, Ashe. Giving Petra some haggling advice?” Byleth guessed as he joined his students. 

“Yes! He is teaching me the commoner secrets!” Petra said seriously, her gaze grim and determined. 

Ashe sighed and shook his head. “It’s not really a secret as much as it is advice, Petra.” 

“He knows some pretty good tricks even I never picked up on,” Dorothea adjusted her mage robes and her hat, shooting a flirtatious wink at a knight who was not so subtly eyeing her. 

Byleth took note of the man, memorizing his facial features and mentally making a note to keep an eye on his interactions with the songstress. 

“Professor!” Ferdinand, Linhardt, and Caspar hurried out to join them after several minutes of waiting, Flayn hurrying along with them. 

“Why did you have to wake me to fight Demonic Beasts?” Linhardt complained. “Surely you could handle this without me?” 

“Not likely,” Byleth said. “We need everyone we can get, especially if more students have gone missing.” 

“Alright,” the sleepy mage muttered, absently smoothing his robes. 

The clanking of heavy plate heralded Edelgard’s arrival, the princess hefting her large shield and axe as if they were nothing. Her white hair trailed behind her with each step, the hard look in her eyes making Byleth almost pity these Demonic Beasts. 

“We’re all here, my teacher,” she looked around at the Black Eagles, her gaze lingering on Flayn just an extra second longer before her gaze turned to Byleth. “Are we ready?” 

A cacophony of hoofbeats drew the attention of everyone in the markets, the poor gatekeeper hurrying aside to avoid being trampled by the storm of cavalry clopping down from the stables. Jeralt was leading them, several riderless horses at his back. 

“Get on, all of you!” he ordered. “We have to get down there quickly.” 

The Black Eagles paired up the horses, swinging up onto the saddles or helping a classmate to do the same. Most of them had riding experience, Byleth included, but a couple definitely needed help in staying on their mounts. 

Byleth put a foot in the stirrup of his own mount and swung onto the saddle, easing himself onto the worn leather as the horse nickered a greeting to him. He held a hand out to Flayn after properly situating himself, the girl for once not smelling of fish as she grabbed the offered hand and allowed herself to be pulled onto the horse behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist to keep herself from falling off, and Byleth could have sworn he felt a glare burning through his passenger. 

“On me!” Jeralt ordered once everyone was settled, and the stream of horses stampeded forward. 

They galloped through the gates, Jeralt and Byleth at the head of the formation and yelling warnings to the townspeople to get out of the way. 

“How many beasts are there?” Byleth raised his voice to be heard over the thundering of hooves and equipment, careful not to tighten his legs’ grip on his own mount as wind whipped his face. 

“We don’t have an exact number, but there’s quite a few,” his father answered, his armor reflecting the sunlight. “We’ll have to hurry.” 

“Agreed,” Byleth steadied his breathing as the knights and his class galloped out of the monastery and onto a beaten dirt path away from the main roads. 

No, it wasn’t dirt: he could see cobblestone ruins being overtaken by nature, being swallowed by the earth and the plants sprouting among the stones. This place they were going to wasn’t just abandoned... it was ancient. 

Before long, the path curved down the mountainside and the forests peeled away to reveal more ruins: collapsed stone buildings and courtyards being overrun by growth. And the serpentine black Beasts roaming the ruins. 

“Alois wasn’t kidding: there’s a lot of them,” Jeralt muttered, just barely audible over the thundering hooves. 

The Demonic Beasts were different than the stray ones Byleth had fought before: these were all black and slenderer in form, with glowing red stones pulsating on their eyeless heads. Their claws were pinkish in color, not dripping venom like the stony beasts, and their leathery hides seemed to absorb the light around them. 

“There’s some kind of stone on their foreheads,” Jeralt had seen them as well. “It looks like they’re emerging from the chapel.” 

He pulled his lance from the saddlebag and aimed it towards the tallest of the ruined buildings, where another Demonic Beast was clawing its way from the depths of the collapsed chapel. 

“If there’s any students alive, we need to save them first,” Byleth looked back at the company of knights, silently counting them all. 

About fifty altogether, but none of his students had had the time to rally their own battalions from the barracks, so this was all they were going to get. He didn’t even have his mercenaries. 

“It looks like it’s going to rain soon,” Flayn murmured from behind Byleth, her grip on his waist tightening. 

He looked in the distance, where the blue sky was being marred by gathering grey clouds. The wind was picking up, too, whipping more harshly across the group. 

“We’re going to have to be careful here,” Jeralt warned. “We’ll use our superior mobility to circle the Beasts and look for students, but your class if going to have to get their attention.” 

“Leave it to us,” Byleth nodded, tension gripping his Crest Stone heart as the cavalry drew closer to the ruins. 

They slowed down, Byleth and the Black Eagles trotting a bit ahead before making their mounts halt. Edelgard and Hubert were astride a massive battlehorse meant for Great Knights, the only mount capable of carrying the princess’s heavy plate with ease, and the great beast diligently held its ground as Edelgard swung down from the saddle and landed heavily upon the earth with a crash of metal. 

Byleth took Flayn’s hand and helped her dismount before following suit, managing a much more dignified landing than the armored princess. 

A roar made Byleth turn to the entrance of the ruins, where three of the Demonic Beasts had apparently seen them and were charging forward, their clawed feet tearing up the earth. 

“Aim for the stones on their heads!” Byleth shouted, feeling an ominous power emanating from each of the creatures. 

Bernadetta’s bow twanged from behind him, sending an arrow streaking towards the onrushing beasts. The projectile buried itself into the leader’s forehead, piercing the red stone and making it explode in a flurry of light and shards. 

The beast screamed and tumbled onto the ground, its body disintegrating and leaving a dark form crumpled on ruined cobblestone. 

A foul taste filled Byleth’s mouth at the familiar sight of the black and gold uniform of the academy draped over the fallen body. 

“The Beasts are the students?!” Edelgard was the first voice to cry out in shock, followed by the others. 

“What the hell?!” Jeralt swore, taking the words right from Byleth. “Break the stones as quickly as you can! We might be able to save them!” 

Byleth nodded, drawing his Relic and letting its power fill him, flowing from the Crest Stone in his chest. His father and the knights galloped off in different directions, their formation splitting up and circling towards the beasts from either side. 

“Dorothea, Hubert, Linhardt, Flayn: draw their attention!” Byleth ordered. “Bernadetta: nice shot!” 

The mages chanted their incantations, arcane sigils flaring to life before spitting out bolts of light, darkness, thunder, and fire. Linhardt’s and Hubert’s shots slammed into the heads of the left Beast, exploding and making it roar in agony while Dorothea’s lightning sailed wide and Flayn’s bounced off the second. 

“Not quite what I was hoping for,” the songstress murmured, steadying herself and opening her mouth to chant again. 

The Beast that had been hit tumbled to the ground, rolling violently onto its side while its flesh dissolved and peeled off of it, dumping the body of another student onto the ground. Byleth’s chest tightened with something and he swung out with the Sword of the Creator, the blade snapping forward and shooting out to reach the stampeding Beast. It didn’t dodge, perhaps lacking the intelligence to see the danger flying towards it, and the glowing tip of the Relic speared the red gem in the Beast’s forehead. 

It disintegrated as it tumbled forward, dumping another still student as the Sword of the Creator snapped back into a singular blade. 

Byleth crouched by the closest of the three fallen students, noting how they were all from different Houses, and pressed his fingers to their necks to feel for a pulse. Nothing. 

“Damn it!” did killing the beasts kill the students, or were they already dead to begin with? 

“Are they dead?” Edelgard and the other Black Eagles caught up, worried looks on most of their faces as they examined the bodies. 

“Should we try to extract the stones without killing them?” Caspar asked. “Just beat ‘em down?” 

“No,” Edelgard shook her head, her voice tight with rage. “These Beasts will tear us apart without mercy if we try to be kind to them. Trying to save them could only cost us our own lives.” 

Byleth rose, inhaling deeply to clear his head and looking up to assess the situation. His father and the knight company had already stormed the ruins and were using their superior mobility to harass the closest Beasts, narrowly avoiding claws and snapping jaws. 

“We go in and destroy them,” he ordered. “We catch whoever’s responsible for this and we take care of them.” 

“But... these are...” Flayn stopped, looking down at the lifeless students. 

“I don’t think the students are alive anymore,” Hubert said with a cold voice. “There are holes in their foreheads where the stones were. It’s possible that these Beasts are formed by using their bodies as vessels.” 

Byleth looked over at the mage, found him examining a body of a young girl whose forehead did indeed have a dark hole bored into it, black veins spreading out across her face. 

“Then the least we can do is put the Beasts down and get the bodies back,” Ferdinand declared, the hesitation in his voice just audible. 

“Let’s move!” the cavalry wouldn’t last for very long once the rest of the Beasts swarmed them. 

Byleth pushed his mind away from the bodies that he’d helped teach and forced his legs to propel him forward. His strides grew longer and longer, Edelgard stomping at his side with murder blazing in her eyes. 

The Black Eagles entered the ruins, Byleth looking around to see how many Beasts needed to be taken care of. 

There seemed to be roughly a dozen of the creatures crawling about, crawling forward as the commotion grew. 

“Edelgard, Ferdinand, Caspar: we’ll hold their attention. Everyone else, keep each other alive and focus on those stones!” Byleth dashed towards a narrow alley between ruined buildings, where several Beasts were trying to claw their way through. 

He glanced over at where his father and the knights were fighting three of the Beasts, a pit growing in his stomach at the sight that awaited him. 

One Beast swiped out with its whip-like tail, slamming it into several horses and sending them sprawling as men and animals alike screamed in agony. Jeralt speared its stone, making it disintegrate, only for the second Beast to pounce on the knights harrying it. Claws and fangs ripped through flesh and armor with ease as it snapped up a man, swiped red talons through three horses in a single swing, then slammed its tail against two more. 

The other knights circled more widely, trying to stay out of range as those with javelins or throwing axes hurled the weapons. The Beasts roared as their leathery flesh was pierced, one’s stone shattering and its body disintegrating in a flurry of darkness. The last one opened its mouth wide and spat out a gout of flames, knights and horses screaming as they were engulfed and baked alive in their armor. 

“They can breathe fire! Stay alert!” Edelgard’s shouted warning yanked Byleth’s focus back to the Beasts storming towards his own Black Eagles, his grip tightening on the Sword of the Creator. 

“Fire!” he ordered as three of the Beasts clustered together, wedging their bodies into the alley and nearly getting each other stuck in their frenzy to attack. 

The mages chanted, Bernadetta’s bow ejected an arrow, and Ferdinand lobbed a javelin with a shout, the projectiles raining down on the Beasts in a hail. They disintegrated, bodies spilling onto the ground. 

A fourth Beast streaked down the alley with blinding speed, unhindered by its fellows and trampling the bodies of the students as its roar shook the air. 

“Fall!” Edelgard stomped forward to meet it, grounding herself and readying her axe. 

The Beast lunged, ignoring an arrow that sprouted from its shoulder, and opened its mouth to clamp those razor-sharp teeth around the small girl. Edelgard sidestepped with deceptive speed, the teeth and claws missing by mere inches, and her axe plunged into its exposed neck. 

It screamed, a horrific, ear-murdering sound that made Byleth recall the time he’d accidentally scratched the chalkboard and made the most horrible sound ever known to man. Black blood sprayed from the gaping wound, splattering across the alley as the Beast writhed and tried to slam its body against Edelgard. 

“Eat this!” Caspar leaped at it, bringing his own axe down with a brutal two-handed chop that made the glowing stone shatter with a single blow. 

The screaming from the Beast stopped as it disintegrated, but four more were already entering the alley. It seemed the plan to funnel them worked a little too well. 

“Professor, there’s one coming around the side!” Bernadetta’s scream made Byleth whirl to see that one Beast had indeed flanked them on the right, stomping through trees before spotting them. 

It roared and made a beeline for the group, tearing up the ruins around it. 

“Right flank! Try to take it out!” Byleth ordered, glancing back at the four approaching their front. 

“Go! We’ll take these!” Edelgard came him a nod. 

She would be fine: it was Caspar and Ferdinand he was more concerned about. 

Byleth sprinted towards the right flank, towards the onrushing Beast as it leaped with stunning agility to avoid the spells and arrows sailing towards it. Byleth’s heart jolted as the Beast actually leaped on the high stone wall to its right and dug its claws into the old stone, somehow clinging to it like a lizard before scrambling towards them. 

“Focus back on the front!” he barked at his students, who shared a worried glance before redirecting their fire. 

The Beast was drawing closer, opening its mouth to exhale flames at the back of the Eagles formation. Byleth snapped his Relic forward, the glowing blade extending as he drew closer to the Beast. 

A fireball far larger than any his mages could conjure ejected from its serpentine throat, streaking right into the path of the Sword of the Creator. The Relic pierced the ball and made it rupture, spitting smaller petals of flame in every direction as the attack evaporated. 

The Beast roared in frustration and leaped off the wall, claws spraying stone shards as it detached itself to plummet towards its prey. Byleth recalled the extended blade and backpedaled, somehow keeping his balance even when the monster hit the ground with a mighty tremor, making the world shake. 

He lashed out with the Sword again as the Beast stomped towards him, jaws opened wide and giving him a wonderful view of its foul, dripping throat. The Relic snapped over its head and down upon its stone, shattering it. The Beast disintegrated, the student’s corpse tumbling head over feet before coming to rest at Byleth’s feet, blank eyes lined with black veins from the hole in his forehead. 

Byleth swallowed the lump in his throat and sprinted back to his students, who were currently contending with the lone survivor of the recent group to attack them. Edelgard slammed her large shield against its head, making it roar in pain and try to lash its claws at her. The red talons hooked around her armor, making metal screech, and Edelgard’s pained cry made Byleth’s chest wrench. Before he could get closer, Ferdinand speared the limb and forced the Beast to withdraw it with another pained roar, his next strike just barely missing the head. A bolt of lightning shattered the stone at last, and another body joined the other dark lumps on the ground. 

Linhardt chanted, white magic flaring as it encircled Edelgard and sank into her body, stemming the flow of red from the gashes opened in her plate. 

“My thanks!” the princess called back to him, she and the other two boys falling back into formation as another Beast entered the alley. 

They could handle this: this strategy was working well and Flayn, Linhardt and Dorothea could keep everyone alive so long as the line held. 

Byleth looked over at where his father and the knights were fighting, the number of corpses on the ground making his chest tighten again. 

Maybe twenty of the knights remained in combat with another Beast, Jeralt and two others bravely circling it and prodding it with their lances. Trying to open it up to the others. 

It opened its mouth to breathe flames, only to scream in agony as a hail of spears sailed into its throat. Jeralt swept his lance towards the Beast’s front leg, smashing it with all the strength he could muster. The limb crumpled, the Beast screaming as it lost its balance and hit the ground, its stone immediately being bombarded by a rain of lances as the other knights pounced. 

As this Beast disintegrated, thunder rumbled overhead and the skies darkened, but silence filled the ruins save for the howl of the increasing wind and the pained screams of knights and horses. 

“Flayn, Linhardt, Dorothea: tend to the knights, see who you can save,” Byleth nodded to his three healers. 

Flayn ran forward without hesitation while Linhardt stifled a gag, his face pale as he took in the bloody, ravaged bodies awaiting him. Dorothea was pumping herself up as she ran after the other two, her face stony with determination. 

Jeralt galloped over, his gaunt face tight while his armor was stained with black blood. “I think that’s all of them... Damn it all. Let’s see if the chapel has any evidence.” 

A raindrop hit Byleth’s head, drawing his gaze skyward to the dark clouds now spilling over Fodlan. 

“Let’s make this quick!” Jeralt grabbed Byleth’s arm and hauled him onto the saddle, Byleth somehow managing to avoid skewering the horse as he caught his balance. “I was watching you. It looks like you’ve really gotten the hang of being a leader.” 

He urged his mount forward into the alley, Byleth’s still heart feeling heavier than usual at the sight of his Black Eagles dragging the bodies of the students into a row. 

“I hope we find who’s responsible for all this,” Jerlat growled, and Byleth found himself nodding in agreement. 

More rain began to fall, thunder rumbled again, and the ruins of the chapel loomed overhead as they approached. Jeralt guided his mount towards the gaping entrance, both men dismounting and striding into the ruins. 

There was nothing inside the cavern of the chapel, the stone floors gouged with claw marks and glass-free windows letting in rain along with several gaps in the collapsed structure. 

“There’s nothing here,” Jeralt spat. “It’s like someone cleared it out before we got here.” 

Byleth retraced his steps back outside, squinting as more rain began to pelt his face with cool, icy kisses. 

“Wait!” a voice he hadn’t heard in a while called out. 

“Hmm? A student? Did you see what happened here?” Byleth turned to see his father paused in the courtyard before the chapel, Monica in front of him. 

“Thank you so much for saving me, sir!” the girl didn’t answer, her hands behind her back. 

“Um, sure. Why don’t you run along now, the knights will take a look at you,” Jeralt dismissed her, his back to Byleth as he gazed at the ruins. 

Monica skirted behind Jeralt, then turned and thrust a shining object into the mercenary’s back. 

Byleth froze, horror and shock spilling into his blood as the unthinkable enfolded before him. 

“You are just a pathetic old man,” Monica seethed. “How dare you get in the way of my plans, you dog!” 

She backed away, a bloodstained dagger of a make Byleth couldn’t recognize in her grasp as Jeralt fell to his knees. 

Byleth seized the power of time without thinking, the world darkening and fading into a void as he rewound the last few seconds. When color returned, he was drawing the Sword of the Creator and launching it at Monica, only for another figure to appear. This tall man was as pale as death, as if he’d never seen the sun, his eyes equally white despite his unusual black armor and cape. 

The newcomer erected a magical barrier and deflected the oncoming Relic, skidding back from the force of the blow. Byleth swore and tried to rewind time again, but Sothis refused his prying. The man and Monica vanished, leaving Jeralt to fall face-first onto the ground as blood gushed from the wound on his back. 

“Father!” Byleth threw his sword aside and sprinted forward, pain he’d never felt before erupting within his chest as he skidded to his knees onto the ground. 

He grabbed Jeralt’s body and turned him over, the pained groan from the man matching his tight face. 

“Sorry...It looks like... I’m going to have to leave you now,” the Blade Breaker groaned, the pain in Byleth’s chest overflowing. 

His eyes were burning, water forming and dropping from his face as more and more rain pelted them. 

Jeralt looked up at his son, his strength clearly fading as his lips curved into a small smile. “To think that the first time I saw you cry... your tears would be for me.” 

Crying? He was crying? All Byleth could feel was this pain and the emptiness opening in his chest. 

“It’s sad, and yet... I’m happy for it,” Jeralt murmured, his eyes starting to roll back into his head. “Thank you... kid.” 

Then he slumped back, all life leaving his body as Byleth’s tears continued falling, mingling with the downpour of rain cascading from the dark skies. 

Something inside of his chest cracked, the deep wells of despair and shock filling the void. It was icy, suffocating, cruel. 

Even as the rain pelted his body, he felt nothing. 


	10. Swift Vengeance

Byleth only spoke during lectures now, or to answer questions students asked him outside the classroom. He didn’t even say a word the day after the battle, when Jeralt was buried in the same plot as his wife. Not even when Edelgard had tried to speak to him afterwards, responding only with a silent nod to whatever she’d said. Even when she’d found him in his father’s office, his face streaked with tears recently shed, and asked him whether he’d intended to stand still or move forward when the future approached, he’d only nodded. 

Edelgard’s heart ached for her dear professor, but it also smoldered with rage. That rage kept her company even now as she walked through an empty section of town, her Flame Emperor armor covering her body. The weight and heat were barely noticeable today. 

Thales... Kronya... Solon... you are all going to pay for what you’ve done. It almost broke her to see Byleth so despondent and empty, cradling the corpse of his father as rain poured down around them. She’d tried to console him, but the proper words could never find their way past her lips and he’d barely responded to her touch. 

“Thank you again for saving me!” Kronya’s damnable voice reached Edelgard’s ears, the rage sparking inside of her making her fists clench. 

She turned into an abandoned courtyard, her armored footsteps drawing the eyes of the two Agarthans waiting for her. 

“If you were to die, then the secrets of our bodies would have been revealed,” Thales chided the younger Agarthan. “Preventing that was my only aim. I’m afraid you must remain, Kronya. There is something I need you to do.” 

“Oh, of course. I am always happy to cooperate with Solon. Leave it to me,” Kronya bowed to her leader, the smirk on her lips making Edelgard grit her teeth beneath the mask. 

“How annoying,” the words escaped her, drawing the eyes of the Agarthans to her. 

Thales’s gaze hardened as he looked at her, seeing through the mask. “Flame Emperor... is she offending you? Unfortunately, we cannot take our eyes off her, so there is nothing to be done.” 

Nothing to be done? Edelgard’s blood roared in her ears, her fingers silently wrapping around the dagger stashed in her sleeve. 

“You are our greatest creation. We used the defiled beast’s blood as fuel to your flame, that you may burn even the gods,” Thales continued, his arrogance and hatred dripping from every word. “Now is the time to cleanse Fodlan with that power, and bring forth our salvation.” 

“There will be no salvation for you and your kind,” Edelgard seethed, the horrific screams of Remire mixing in with the other atrocities these savages had committed. “Those responsible for such gruesome deeds as Duscur and Enbarr.” 

Thales scowled, his disappointment glittering in his white eyes. “All so that you may acquire the strength you need. All for a purpose.” 

A purpose?! Edelgard fought to keep her breathing controlled as the hook of anger caught her. A purpose that had hurt Byleth, wounded him so deeply that any emotion that could potentially have arisen from him was now sealed back beneath his stony visage, and Edelgard had no idea whether or not he would ever be the same. 

“Come on, Flame Emperor, we know what we’re doing, as do you,” Kronya sighed, and the thinned threads of Edelgard’s patience snapped. 

Her hand whipped out with blinding speed, Kronya freezing at the touch of cold steel to her vulnerable throat. 

“Do you?” Edelgard growled. “You go behind my back and perform those twisted experiments on Remire village and the students in that chapel. You know I am trying to build rapport with the professor, yet you go and murder his father. Against my wishes.” 

“With all due respect, your wishes are spawning from a misguided affection for that creature,” Thales warned, the faint vestiges of dark magic flickering in his hands. “Do not throw away a millennium of planning just for one animal.” 

“That animal hosts the Goddess Sothis,” Edelgard reminded them, pressing the dagger slightly harder into the tender flesh of Kronya’s throat. “And now that power will be thrown against us with all of their combined might.” 

“The Fell Star will be of no consequence, Flame Emperor, you know this,” Thales growled. “Play your part and our dreams will at last come to fruition. Now, enough of this nonsense.” 

Edelgard’s heart screamed for her to cut Kronya’s throat then and there, to wipe that smug look off of her face, but Thales wouldn’t allow it. He’d somehow managed to take the full force of the Sword of the Creator without having his shield broken, and Edelgard couldn’t afford to underestimate him. 

She lowered the knife. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear: you are not to harm the professor. If you do, I will put an end to every last one of you.” 

Thales gave an exasperated exhale through his nose: the sigh of a parent growing weary of their child’s insolence, and the act made her blood roar hotter through her veins. “You need us, Flame Emperor, if you want your ambitions to come to life. You need us and we need you. We cannot survive without one another. Kronya: report to Solon in the Sealed Forest and see what he wants you to do.” 

“Yes, my lord!” Kronya gave Edelgard one last, mocking smile before vanishing in a burst of light. 

“And you: do not forget yourself,” Thales’s voice hardened into cold fury, dark particles rippling around his body. “Do not allow your fondness of one creature to make you forget what we’re here for. Am I clear?” 

“Perfectly,” Edelgard spat out, movement in her peripheral vision making her clamp her mouth shut. 

It was only Hubert, his back straight as he strode towards them. 

Thales teleported away, leaving the two Adrestians alone as Huberet approached and stopped, bowing at the waist. 

“What do you want to do?” he asked. 

“Spread a rumor through the barracks that Jeralt’s murderers have been seen in the vicinity of the Sealed Forest,” Edelgard ordered. “I’ll report it to the professor after it’s gained enough traction to make Rhea gather her knights to investigate.” 

Hubert straightened, his face grim and determined as he nodded. “As you wish, Your Highness.” 

All that remained to be seen now was how long this would take. 

Edelgard’s sharp words echoed through his mind even two weeks after she’d spoken to him in Jeralt’s office. 

“You’re so blinded by grief that you cannot see what’s happening in front of you. Are you waiting for time to heal your wounds? Or have you curled up in a corner and lost the will to carry on?” she’d asked, the edge of her tongue slicing into him with each word. “Only you can understand your own sadness. Others can sympathize or even empathize, but all anyone else can offer are the tears of an outsider looking in. So, I have no intention of crying with you, or of standing still with you. All I can do is promise to reach out my hand when the time comes for me to move forward. Will you lead us into battle when our enemies are found, or will you just sit there with no thought of the future that is fast approaching?” 

There was only one real choice to be made, of course, but that didn’t make the emptiness in his chest feel any fuller. Not even the rage of Nemesis had any sway over that void, akin to pouring lava into a bottomless pit. 

“Damn Agarthans! I should have wiped them out long ago after I’d stolen the Relics back,” the King of Liberation snarled. “Well, you and I can amend that, boy! Let’s get out there and slaughter them!” 

“We don’t know where the wicked ones are, and even if we did, it would be foolhardy to just charge forward into battle,” Sothis’s bitter voice made the king pause. “Or have my words had absolutely no effect on you, King of Liberation?” 

Byleth didn’t know what Sothis had grilled into Nemesis when she’d finally caught up to him, only knowing that he’d nearly fainted during a lecture after the day of the funeral because of the two spirits. But he had to admit that their voices kept him anchored in this emptiness, allowed him to drive through his tasks even as the days blurred together. 

Even the condolences and sorrow-filled gazes of the other students and professors were all starting to sound and feel the same. Knights who’d served by his father were still coming up to Byleth to talk about him, to tell stories of the times they’d shared with the Blade Breaker, perhaps trying to remember the fonder days. They didn’t fill the void. 

Part of him wondered if the Crest Stone in his chest would just explode and take away this emptiness. 

“Hey, snap out of it, boy!” Nemesis barked, making Byleth jolt. “My story may have ended a long time ago, but yours is only just beginning.” 

“Agreed! Your life is mine and Nemesis’s as well,” Sothis chided. “You are allowing your grief to blind you to the value of staying alive!” 

Grief... this empty darkness that had hollowed him out, making his body leaden and his chest cold. He much preferred the warmth he felt with his students. With El. 

How could he escape this? No matter what he did, this emptiness refused to go away, refused to release him from its cruel, cruel clutches. When he slept, all he could see was Jeralt being stabbed again and again and again, his last words echoing through the void until Byleth at last awoke and forced himself to set about his daily tasks. 

He’d had to be strong for his students in this emptiness; he’d promised Lysithea to approach this cautiously as well, the young mage absently stating how she didn’t want to lose him, too. Many others had expressed that same sentiment, including the two voices in his head. 

It was madness. How could anyone live with this? How did Edelgard live with it and find the will to carry on? 

It had been two weeks since then, and Rhea hadn’t even given him an assignment for this month. He’d heard that she’d dispatched the majority of her knights to scour the countryside for signs of Monica and her accomplice, leaving the monastery with the thinnest of defenses. Felix had already expressed his concern with the slackened security, as had a few other students, but Byleth had the feeling that their enemies wouldn’t do anything just yet. 

They’d gone after his father, and it made sense that he was next. If they came, it would be for him. 

“Indeed,” Sothis agreed, her voice faltering. “But what if we went to them first?” 

“And then we destroy them,” Nemesis said approvingly. “And put an end to the threat they’re presenting to our home.” 

Home. Was Garreg Mach his home? And when did these two actually start agreeing with each other? 

“Professor!” Edelgard’s urgent voice snapped him from this line of thought. 

She was hurrying towards him, her face steeled and her gait steady until she came to a halt in front of him. “I know where the enemy is... where Solon is.” 

Why did this seem too convenient? Especially with the knights’ main force deployed all over the place. He could feel Sothis nod approvingly, the Goddess’s presence cool and calming inside of him, allowing him to think. At least it was different than the emptiness. 

“They’re in a place called the Sealed Forest, close to the monastery,” his student informed him. “The archbishop is gathering the remaining knights to begin a search. She’s doing so in secret, behind our backs.” 

With good reason. She likely feared Byleth would dash off in a rage to avenge his father. 

“She’s afraid I will go to fight them if I knew,” he concluded, Edelgard’s eyes widening with surprise. 

“M-my teacher? I fear you are correct: Rhea must be afraid that a thirst for revenge will compel you to seek them out,” Edelgard recovered quickly. “Now that you know, will you give us the order?” 

A storm of footfalls heralded the new arrivals, Rhea’s voice filling the chamber. 

“No. I will not allow it,” the archbishop declared. 

“This discovery comes just when the knights are at their busiest,” Seteth said at her side, his face grim. “It is all too likely that our foes revealed themselves to lure you out there. They are the ones who took Jeralt from you... I know how you must despise them, but I must ask you to rein in your personal feelings for now.” 

“You know that loss all too well, don’t you, Cichol?” Nemesis snarled. 

“Yet we must go!” Sothis cried. “If we do not, they may escape and we will lose this chance! Who else could fight?” 

“I know,” Byleth said at last, folding his arms. “But can any other soldiers you muster face them? Defeat them? My Black Eagles are the strongest force in the monastery at the moment, and we cannot afford to allow our enemy to escape.” 

Edelgard again looked at him with surprised eyes, the archbishop and her entourage sharing concerned looks. 

“Lady Rhea, the professor is not acting out of revenge. Sending us out there is the most strategic move we can make. You can’t deny it,” the princess again recovered quickly, placing a gloved hand on her hip. “Most of the knights are still far away. Not only does our professor wield a Hero’s Relic, but there is no one here who is more powerful. Seteth and the few remaining knights can’t leave the monastery unattended.” 

She gave Byleth a side glance, relief flooding her violet eyes as the faintest hint of a smile curved her lips. “We have fought under our teacher’s command countless times. We are the most effective army here, and we are already prepared for battle. We have no idea what the enemy is plotting. We must act now!” 

Pride pierced the emptiness, the cold darkness flickering with warmth. Edelgard had already made the preparations and readied the Black Eagles for battle, just waiting for Byleth’s command to move out and engage the enemy. 

He’d made his choice, and Edelgard was now offering her hand to walk forward with him. Maybe this would finally make the emptiness go away. 

“Do you agree with this strategy, Professor?” Rhea asked, her piercing gaze searching him for any indication that he shouldn’t move forward. 

“I do,” Byleth nodded. 

The archbishop inclined her head. “Then I will give the order: seek out and eliminate the enemies hiding in the Sealed Forest. May the Goddess watch over you.” 

“Of course I certainly will!” Sothis preened, and Byleth imagined her with her chest puffed out with pride. “I need to keep my mortal alive, after all.” 

“Your mortal?” Nemesis grunted. “You sound like Seiros.” 

“Edelgard, how far along were the preparations?” Byleth turned to the House head. 

“All I need to do is get my armor, Professor,” she answered. “Which Hubert is holding onto.” 

“Let me get the Sword of the Creator and I’ll join you by the gates,” Byleth nodded to Rhea. 

“I’ll go with you,” Edelgard insisted, falling into step at his side as the duo made their way out of the towering entrance hall. 

“You were going to go even if Rhea had forbidden us from doing so, weren’t you?” Byleth asked Edelgard, a faint spark of warmth again alighting in his chest when he looked over at her. 

She gave him a wry smile. “Only if you would have come with us, my teacher.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t have let you go on your own,” Byleth nodded. 

Jeralt may have been gone, but he still had his students. He still had El. And he would protect them with his life, no matter what. 

“I’m glad to hear your voice again, Byleth,” Edelgard said softly as the duo passed through the courtyards and strode out in front of the dorms. “Outside of classes, that is.” 

“Was I really that quiet?” he asked as they drew closer to his room. 

“You rarely spoke outside of lectures for these past two weeks, and the emptiness in your eyes was... unbearable to see,” the princess answered, her voice more subdued than he’d ever heard it. 

Byleth pushed open his door and strode inside, shooting a quick glance at the bulletin board as the owl perched on his doorframe hooted at him. 

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” he saw nothing new, turning to grab the Sword of the Creator. 

Edelgard shut the door behind her, Byleth raising an eyebrow at her. She strode forward and held a hand out to him, a gentle and relieved smile on her lips. 

“You worried all of us, Byleth, but me especially,” she chided. 

“Sorry about that,” he reached out and took her offered hand, her slender fingers intertwining with his own. “It still hurts, but... I think I’ve found my footing again, at least.” 

“Then we shall walk side by side, as we did before, until you’re fully grounded,” Edelgard declared as his blood warmed, chasing away the void. “I’ve reached out my hand and you have taken it, so let us continue forward together.” 

“That’s why you wanted to hold my hand?” Byleth mused, Edelgard’s cheeks coloring with embarrassment. 

“That’s one reason, yes,” she answered boldly, then stepped closer on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “That’s another one. My heart feels overwhelmed with joy, Byleth, to see some light back in your eyes.” 

His chest warmed and lightened, almost fuzzy, and he could have sworn that his pulse quickened with how close Edelgard was to him. Nemesis was staying silent, which made him a bit suspicious. 

“Thank you, El,” his cheek was tingling from her touch. “Let’s go, shall we?” 

Disappointment flickered across her gaze for the briefest of moments, but that was enough for Byleth to pull her towards him and draw her into his arms. The warmth of her body pressed against his was... surreal, intensifying when she held him closer, her head resting against his chest and neck. Her long hair tickled his bare neck, and her breath warmed his chest further. 

“Byleth, you are making it very difficult to want to leave for this mission,” her voice was a bit muffled against his chest. “But... what does this mean for... for us?” 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. 

Edelgard pulled away, the duo reluctantly separating and allowing that warmth to fade. “We can worry about that later. We must get to the Sealed Forest!” 

“Right,” they were back to professor and student as she opened the door and strode out. 

It took mere minutes to reach the front gates, where even the cheery gatekeeper was wishing the assembled Black Eagles good luck. 

“Professor, let’s do this! We’re bringing these jerks to justice once and for all!” Caspar declared, thumping his chest with a fist. 

“We’ll avenge your father and the people of Remire Village!” Ferdinand added, his armor gleaming just as brilliantly as his spear head. 

“We’re with you, Professor!” Dorothea’s determined face made Byleth almost pity anyone who ended up in the girl’s sights. 

“I won’t be scared! Not with you here!” Bernadetta declared, despite her shaking knees and the way she tightly clenched her bow. 

Petra made some sort of salute Byleth didn’t recognize with her hand, her eyes blazing. “Our enemies have been making a grave mistake. We will be avenging the captain!” 

“I’m with you to the very end!” Flayn declared, pumping her fists enthusiastically. 

Edelgard began covering herself with her heavy plate, Hubert assisting with moving the metal pieces into place and strapping them together. Before long, they were all mounting up again to deploy, Edelgard urging her massive horse next to Byleth’s stallion. 

“Our battalions are awaiting us outside the forest, your father’s mercenaries included,” she informed him, the determination in her voice drawing a smile to Byleth’s lips. 

“Let’s put them to good use. Everyone: forward!” he somehow kept his voice strong, and the thunderclap of steel-shod hooves echoed through the monastery. 

It was just like last month, but this time, Monica and Solon wouldn’t be walking away. He would make sure of that. 

“Follow me!” Edelgard shouted to be heard over the rhythmic thundering, her hair whipping around her head like a white halo as she spurred her battlehorse to the head of the formation. 

Byleth could have sworn he saw her spit some strands of hair out of her mouth before he lost sight of her face. The formation banked to follow her, a cloud of dust kicking up in their wake as they left the cobbled monastery paths and towards a massive forest spread out around the base of the mountain. 

The town was off far to the west, the tiled roofs of the homes and businesses gleaming in the midday light. Byleth tore his gaze away from the town and the people and focused on the white-haired girl leading him closer and closer to that dark forest. 

“The Sealed Forest... an appropriate place for a trap,” Nemesis rumbled, his voice clear despite the thundering of hooves and clanking of metal grasping the world. “Don’t be reckless, boy: these Agarthans are masters of forbidden dark magicks.” 

“I’ll be cautious,” Byleth assured him, staring at the sea of trees spreading out before them. 

The canopy was thick but allowed light to trickle through, the dark green foliage emanating an almost sinister aura. 

A large crowd of Imperial soldiers were bustling around what appeared to be a path cut into the forest, a windy sliver of dirt that vanished further into the darkness. Byleth picked out his father’s mercenary company on the very edge of the Imperial forces, the veteran warriors cleaning weapons or straightening their armor, preparing for battle. He also saw a contingent of Seiros monks gathered together in silent prayer, hands clasped and heads lowered. 

Unlike the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, there wasn’t a field hospital to take wounded soldiers once they were taken out of the battle. If the wounded couldn’t be saved, then that was it. These enemies were likely going to be much more organized than the bandits and pirates the class had engaged with their troops, and they had the advantage of knowing the terrain. If they weren’t careful, there could be a lot of casualties. 

“Everyone, get to your troops,” Byleth reined in his horse, slowing to a canter as he approached the mercenaries. 

“Ashen Demon!” 

“Let’s do this! For the captain!” 

“Vengeance!” 

They shouted at his approach, their rage clear in their eyes and roared oaths as weapons were raised in salute. 

His class split up to attend to their troops, softly exchanging words with their officers. 

“Everyone, gather around!” Edelgard’s imperious voice silenced the hushed chatter as Byleth swung down from the saddle, his legs jarring as he hit the earth. 

The students clustered together along with some of their officers, all of them waiting for the future Emperor’s words. Byleth stood off to the side with his father’s second in command, a burly, battle-scarred warrior with a shaven head and enough musculature to rival Raphael. His leather armor barely contained his body, his broad callused hands casually resting on the haft of an axe large enough to split a wyvern in half. 

“So, we ready to do this?” he asked in a deep baritone, the white of his lone brown eye gilded in the sun. 

“We are, Baron,” Byleth nodded, glad that the warrior was able to fight by his side. 

He’d apparently eaten a bad mushroom before the mock battle and had had to sit it out, reduced to watching from the sidelines with Jeralt. Something he hadn’t stopped complaining about, according to some of the other mercenaries. 

“Our enemy will likely know we are coming, and I have no doubt that they will have filled the forest with traps,” Edelgard began, gesturing with her axe’s head at the path cut through the woods behind them. “That’s the only known path through to where our enemy is hiding. Walking it unprepared would be foolhardy, so I propose this: Petra, you and your lighter regiment will take the lead as we advance, scouting the path for traps and potential ambushes. I will follow behind with the armored corps to provide cover if needed and shield the front of the formation from attack. Hubert, Linhardt: your mages will follow on the edges of the path in single file behind me, with Flayn and her monks in the middle.” 

She dug the haft of her weapon into the dirt at her feet, drawing two vertical lines parallel to one another before gouging a thicker one in the middle to showcase her proposed formation. 

“Professor, your mercenaries will form up behind this formation in order to deploy in either direction should we be flanked or ambushed on the sides. Dorothea and Bernadetta: your battalions will follow us with Caspar behind and Ferdinand covering our rear with his cavalry,” Edelgard finished, her eyes stern even as they flicked to Byleth, seeking approval. 

“A sound plan, but we don’t know what we’re going up against,” he nodded to her. “Let’s do it, but keep everyone alert. Petra: be careful as you advance. Retreat behind Edelgard the second you’re threatened and join up with me, alright?” 

The tightness of the forest would hinder the cavalry and force their troops into closer formations, but the thick foliage would also make it more difficult for the Agarthans to move large numbers of troops through the forest. 

“Everyone know what they’re doing?” Edelgard asked, seeing nods all around. “Get into formation!” 

The students and officers darted off to their battalions, voices barking orders all over the assembled army. Byleth and Baron walked back to the mercenary company, Byleth watching the chaos unfold as individual units and groups maneuvered to get to their positioning. 

“Girl’s got a good plan, for a student,” Baron grunted, a flash of white teeth escaping his lips. “You taught her well, kid.” 

“I hope so,” Byleth nodded to his lieutenant. 

“Alright, you lot! Follow us!” the warrior bellowed at the mercenaries, several clutching their ears and launching mock complaints. 

Byleth’s troops clustered together behind Hubert, Linhardt and Flayn, the dark robes of the mages contrasting sharply with the white of the monks. 

“Do you think we’ll be able to move quickly enough to drive off an ambush before those spell slingers are butchered?” a mercenary muttered behind Byleth as the grim-faced Imperial troops under Dorothea and Bernadetta filed in behind the company. 

“The only real ambush that could happen would come from mages or archers, both of which we’re well equipped to deal with,” Byleth answered, drawing the Sword of the Creator and letting the warmth of the weapon in his palm. 

“Right,” they fell silent, waiting for Edelgard’s command. 

It came, relayed down the ranks by officers in a repeated cry. 

“Forward! Forward!” 

The army kicked off almost at once, armor clanking and rattling as weapons were gripped and shields raised in anticipation. Byleth disliked not being at the front of the formation where he could see everything as the forest closed in around them, the canopy all but swallowing up the sun. 

Heads were on constant swivel everywhere Byleth looked, and the mages looked ready to bolt either towards his mercenaries or Edelgard’s armored corps at the first sign of an enemy ambush focused on them. 

The tension was almost unbearable, Byleth’s own nerves on edge as his eyes roamed the forest, looking for any hint of humanoid figures among the foliage. 

“Where are those worms hiding?” Nemesis growled. 

“I don’t know if the enemy will attack us on this road, kid,” Baron said in a soft voice, barely audible over the clanking of equipment. 

“What do you mean?” Byleth asked, frowning at the lack of natural noise in the ambience. 

There were no birds, no insects, nothing. 

The lieutenant’s bronzed skin glittered in the sunlight as they continued marching forward, his eye darting back and forth. “They could be set up at a clearing at the end, letting us stress ourselves out anticipating an ambush on the way there. By the time we arrive, the troops’ adrenaline rush would have worn off and the stress would have taken its toll on them.” 

“Making them easier to pick off,” Byleth frowned. “I see what you mean.” 

“Let’s just keep our guys calm, yeah? Save the adrenaline for the actual fight when it comes,” Baron had fought with them for as long as Byleth remembered, the warrior a veteran of countless fights. 

He was calm and dependable, although he vanished in the chaos of battle, slinking through the violence and carnage as a beast with white fangs before emerging as a man afterwards. Then again, the same could be said of many soldiers. 

“Understood,” Byleth slowed his pace to mix with the other mercenaries, taking a moment here and there to exchange words with anyone who looked particularly antsy. 

After several minutes, the merc company was standing tall and composed, weapons and shields held loosely in their hands to prevent the muscles from cramping. 

“Professor, we’re approaching a break in the trees,” Hubert slowed his pace to deliver his report, frowning at the woods surrounding them. “It appears the enemy was lying in wait for us instead of setting up ambushes.” 

“Let’s not lower our guard just yet,” Byleth cautioned, and the mage nodded before hurrying back to his battalion. 

Another report came down as confusion rippled through the lines: Petra’s scouts had broken through the tree line and come across a large force of soldiers waiting for them, Demonic Beasts at their head. 

“Double time it!” Byleth ordered, the words being carried up and down as other voices bellowed. 

The army surged forward, the formation holding as far as Byleth could see as they broke into a jog. 

“All ranged units, focus on the Demonic Beasts first!” Edelgard’s voice carried over the din with ease. “Target the stones in their foreheads!” 

The trees ahead were peeling away, opening up into the clearing holding the Agarthans, and Byleth inhaled deeply to calm his nerves. 

This was it: Monica had to waiting for them up ahead. 

“Stay behind me!” Edelgard’s next cry made Byleth’s heart lurch. “Keep your shields locked!” 

He could faintly hear the distant cracking of spells hitting metal, growing louder and louder the closer they drew. The mages passed into the clearing and immediately spread their lines out while Flayn’s monks hunkered down behind the lines of Edelgard’s knights. 

Byleth and the mercenary company dashed forward to join them, and Byleth finally got a view of the battlefield awaiting them. 

A clearing had been cut into the forest, with what appeared to be two wider paths branching out deeper from the west and east. A thick copse of trees filled the middle of the clearing, bolts of dark magic streaking from within and peppering the raised shields of Edelgard’s forces without mercy. 

There were a few clumps of foliage and a few stray trees on the right and left sides of the clearing, but nothing nearly as concentrated as what filled the central portion. 

Hubert and Linhardt set up on the flanks of Edelgard’s formation, bolts of magic immediately being fired at the two Demonic Beasts stampeding towards them from either side. 

As Byleth pushed his way to the front, mercenaries in tow, he could just faintly make out the dark, masked forms of the Agarthan mages in the trees as they continued firing on Edelgard’s line. Their shields absorbed the brunt of the bolts, but Byleth could see the shards of metal and wood being chipped off with each blast that made the knights swear and struggle to stay upright. 

“They’re in the trees and the flanks!” Edelgard reported, holding her own shield up at the very center of the line. “They have two Demonic Beasts with them!” 

Byleth looked to the east, then the west, already spotting the black-armored soldiers advancing towards the Black Eagles in a pincer, Demonic Beasts leading the charge. Linhardt and Hubert were already laying down fire on the oncoming pincers, the repeated snapping and hissing of spells filling the forest. 

“Bernie!” Byleth looked back to see the last part of the formation hurrying into the clearing, Dorothea dashing to reinforce Hubert’s flank while Bernadetta and an officer hurried forward. 

The girl’s face was white with terror, her eyes darting hither and thither with a frantic pace while her officer stood stiffly at attention, her face a grim mask. 

“See if you can’t take out the mages in the trees, there,” Byleth shouted over the cracking of spells on metal. “Edelgard can’t take much more of this!” 

“Do not insult me, my teacher!” Edelgard retorted, just as the helmet of the knight next to her shattered from a bolt of dark energy. 

The man screamed in agony and tumbled back, dropping his shield and axe to claw at the ravaged flesh of his face as blood ran down in rivers. 

“Close the gap! Close the gap!” 

Flayn’s monks immediately swarmed around the fallen knight, gentle white magic coursing into his wounds as his screams continued. Another knight screamed as a spell slipped past their shield, the force of the blow sending them reeling backwards with a smoking hole in their armor. Another fell, the terrible sound of metal being ripped open indicating more losses. 

The Agarthans were starting to find their aim, it would seem. 

“Bernie, we need you to fire over the shields, lay down a fusillade to either force the mages to withdraw or to break cover!” Byleth barked, hurriedly glancing at the flanks to see what was going on. 

Hubert’s reinforced left flank had destroyed its Demonic Beast and were peppering the approaching Agarthans with a storm of spells. He didn’t know how many shots they had left, but he had to get Caspar and Ferdinand into the battle to conserve spells and ammunition. Bernadetta’s archers could scavenge for arrows if needed, but once the magic was gone, it was gone. 

Linhardt’s right flank was loosing spells like mad in an attempt to slow the Agarthans and their own Beast, but the lack of extra firepower wasn’t making as much of a dent in the encroaching soldiers as the left flank was. 

“Mercenaries: reinforce the right flank!” Byleth shouted, Baron’s impossibly thunderous voice repeating the order loud enough for the entire monastery to catch it. 

Byleth dashed towards Linhardt’s mages, his troops rattling alongside of him as the sounds of spellcasting grew louder and louder. The Sword of the Creator in hand, Byleth’s battalion circled around the edge of the mage line and charged towards the roaring Demonic Beast, the red stone gleaming brightly on its forehead. 

The earth was shaking under its powerful limbs, its open cavern of fangs guttering with a flicker of flames. Byleth snapped the Sword of the Creator out, sending the weapon streaking forward with blinding speed. The Beast clamped its mouth shut, perhaps fearing for its exposed throat, only for the glowing red blade to slam into its forehead. His arm jolted from the impact, tremors going up the limb as the Relic snapped back into a singular blade. 

The Beast tumbled, disintegrating and dumping an unfamiliar black-garbed body onto the earth, with a sigh of relief escaping Byleth’s lips. It wasn’t a student, this time. 

“Take ‘em down! For Jeralt!” Baron roared, taking his massive sky-sundering axe into both powerful hands. 

The cry was echoed by the other mercenaries, who readied swords, lances, and shields. The black forms of the Agarthan infantry were drawing closer and closer, closing the distance enough to where Byleth could see the ghastly pale skin peeking out from underneath their armor. 

“Now!” Linhardt shouted from behind, the chanting of his mages followed swiftly by the hissing and crackling of spells coming to life. 

Balls of fire streaked over the mercenary company, the Agarthan infantry screaming and scattering as explosions rocked their formation. Causing their charge to falter as flames engulfed flesh and set the foliage ablaze. A perfectly timed gambit. 

“Now!” Byleth echoed his student’s words, the mercs filling the air with their battle cries as the company charged. 

He ran at their head with Baron at his side, the roaring of the mercenaries deafening in his ears as they closed the distance between them and their floundering prey. Byleth snapped the Sword of the Creator forward again, the bone blade extending in a flurry of crackling sparks and energy. It speared a man who was trying to shake off his burning cloak, then continued to slice through a fighter who’d lost his helmet to the flames. 

A few of them tried to get back into formation, but it was too late. Byleth and company crashed down upon the Agarthans in a storm of screaming metal and heaving bodies, weapons flashing and carving open pale flesh left and right. Byleth’s Relic sheared through his enemies as if they weren’t even wearing armor, dark red blood already watering the earth with each swing he made that ripped through his enemies with ease. 

Soldiers slammed against one another all around him, filling the air with the ring of metal and screams of the wounded and dying as bodies crumpled into lifeless heaps en masse. Byleth’s instincts took over, Nemesis guiding him from within as he hacked, slashed, dodged, and rolled through the carnage, his eyes taking in every threat to his life with a veteran’s speed. 

“EAT THIS, YOU GHOST-FLESHED BASTARDS!” Baron’s roar had to shake the very firmament of the known universe as Byleth glimpsed the lieutenant spinning his massive axe around in murderous sweeps. 

Somehow managing to avoid hitting his allies, who were smart enough to give him extra room in battle, Baron spun on the balls of his feet, heaving his massive axe through Agarthan bodies like paper and leaving mangled corpses in his wake. 

“Eat this!” a mercenary batted aside an Agarthan’s clumsy swing, slammed his shield into the white face, then thrust his sword into his enemy’s ribs. 

The remaining Agarthans fell quickly, with Byleth yanking his sword free from a corpse to take stock of the battle. 

Bernadetta had forced the Agarthan mages hiding in the tree line to withdraw, it seemed, but Edelgard’s knights had taken a severe beating if the bodies currently being tended to by Flayn and her monks were any indication. 

The Agarthan’s left flank had similarly collapsed, either blasted apart by the mages or run down by Caspar’s fighters. Ferdinand’s cavalry were currently engaged in a brutal back and forth shoving match with Agarthan mounted troops, horses screaming alongside men as lances were thrust into armor or warm flesh. 

Ferdinand’s troops had the upper hand, but Byleth kept a close eye on the skirmish, watching that orange-haired figure dance among the combatants. After several tense moments, the Agarthan cavalry tried to break off and flee, only to be caught in a crossfire of Hubert and Dorothea the moment they’d cleared from Ferdinand’s unit. 

“Get the troops back together!” Byleth shouted, a relay officer baying in repetition as the words cruised over the stilling battlefield. 

“Die, you filth!” a lone roar made Byleth and his company turn to see one Agarthan fighter come barreling out from behind some trees, screaming and waving his axe around his head. “Eh?” 

The Agarthan skidded to a halt, his face slackening into shock as he took in the bodies and the mercenary company standing over them. 

“Aw, crap,” he muttered, his axe lowering to the earth. “I was late again, wasn’t I?” 

One of the mercs hefted a javelin and hurled it, the projectile streaking perfectly through the air to imbed itself into the Agarthan’s chest with a meaty thud. 

“Well, that was awkward,” Baron chuckled, his predatory grin flashing brilliantly despite the blood and offal coating his axe. “I’m not seeing anymore, are you?” 

“That can’t be everything they have to throw at us,” Byleth muttered, his senses screaming a warning as the branches rustled in the thick forest to his left. 

“You’re mine!” Monica came streaking out of the forest in a blur of black and red, her curved blade going straight for Byleth’s neck. 

He ducked and rolled to the side, feeling the dagger pass just above his head, and came up standing, facing the woman who’d killed his father. His chest warmed with anger, his fingers tightening on the hilt of his sword. 

“Hello, hello! Welcome to the forest of death!” Monica cackled as she crouched and made ready to lunge again. “My name is Kronya: this weakling girl was just a ploy!” 

Darkness rippled around her, peeling off until Monica was gone, with a pale-skinned Agarthan with short orange hair in her place. Her red eyes gleamed with murder, her black apparel hugging her body and her curves in a way clearly designed to distract or arouse opponents or targets while leaving movement unhindered. A perfect weapon for an assassin trained to kill. 

“This is what I really look like,” Kronya crooned, and three unusual tail-like appendages snapped up behind her, black material colored orange at the blade-like, triangular tips. 

They looked more like stingers than tails, now that Byleth thought about it. 

“This the bitch who killed the captain?” the mercenaries were sizing her up, slowly moving to encircle her. 

“Oh, that pathetic old man was your captain?” Kronya sneered, her words as sharp as the blade she carried. “I hope you’re better than he was!” 

“Shut up!” two mercenaries lunged, ignoring Byleth’s call for them to wait as they sprinted towards Kronya. 

The Agarthan giggled as if she weren’t about to be attacked, then stepped back with the grace and fluidity of a shadow. Her blade sliced open the first mercenary’s throat, opening a red smile on his flesh that made him choke and clutch at it while one of her ‘tails’ snapped out and speared the second in the chest. The two bodies crumpled to the ground in the space of a heartbeat, Kronya’s smile almost maniacal as she licked the blood off of her blade. 

“Pathetic. If this keeps up, I might be forced to escape!” she declared, a brazen challenge to the soldiers slowly surrounding her. “Or do you plan to let me? How hospitable of you! As for me, I plan on killing every last one of you!” 

Byleth snapped the Sword of the Creator out the second she moved, the whip-like blade slamming into one of the three tails and shattering it in a flurry of sparks. Kronya snarled and lunged with blinding speed, her sword aimed at his heart. 

Byleth sidestepped, saw the feint that she was attempting, then swung his reconnected Relic at her head. She ducked and lashed out with one of her feet, sharp pain shooting through Byleth’s chest as her kick connected with jarring force. He stumbled back, caught his balance, and brought his sword up just in time to deflect Kronya’s attempted killing blow. Her strength was nothing to be terrified of, but Kronya moved again to slash at Byleth’s abdomen. It was her speed that made her dangerous, but he could already see a pattern in her attacks. 

He barely deflected that strike, pain shooting through his left arm as one of her tails jabbed into his flesh. 

“Pathetic! You won’t be able to avenge your father like that!” Kronya tittered, whirling and launching another blinding kick at Byleth while her second tail buried its head into his waist. 

Byleth grit his teeth at the hot agony blooming from the wounds, found Nemesis’s rage coursing through his veins as the ancient king reached out again. His left hand snapped up at the king’s behest, the wrist and forearm jarring painfully as it took Kronya’s kick. 

Now came the tail! He slashed upwards with his Relic, the ancient blade smashing into Kronya’s stinger and cutting it off to join the first one. 

The Agarthan yelped and skirted backwards, lashing out with her dagger to create space as Byleth attempted to pursue. He wouldn’t let her escape. She would die here, by his hand! 

He dashed after her, not giving her an inch to recover as he jabbed with the Sword of the Creator, trying to force her to trip up. Kronya slipped infuriatingly between his strikes, the panic in her eyes replaced with anger and arrogance. 

“You’re mine, bitch!” Baron suddenly appeared behind her, making her head snap back in alarm as his massive axe sheared through her remaining tail and sent it sprawling to the earth. 

“Eat this!” the other mercenaries had finished their encirclement while Byleth had distracted Kronya and now closed in, a ring of steel poised to clamp down upon her. 

She ducked and weaved between lances with blinding speed, knocking aside a sword aimed at her neck with her own blade before leaping up with dizzying acrobatic ability. She landed on a mercenary’s shoulders, jabbing her steel into his throat before kicking off and sprinting towards the forest. 

“She’s running! After her!” 

Byleth was already sprinting on Kronya’s heel, her lithe form almost blending into the shadows of the trees as she darted here and there in an attempt to throw him off. But the sparking remains of her three tails on the small of her back gave her away and allowed Byleth to keep up with her. 

He flew through the woods, ignoring the branches smacking across his face and making leaves blot his vision for a moment as his gaze bored into the Agarthan who made his heart warm with rage. 

He snapped the Sword of the Creator out again, the blade spitting sparks as it slammed into Kronya’s back as she tried to swing up onto a tree branch. The limb cracked loudly, almost drowning out her pained scream as she hit the ground, rolled, then sprinted forward again. 

“Monica!” Edelgard’s voice split the forest almost as well as her gleaming axe head as it descended towards the fleeing Agarthan. 

Kronya saw it coming and narrowly skirted around to avoid having her head lopped off, skidding back and leaning against a tree as her chest heaved with her labored breathing. 

“What’s this? Have you come to kill me?” she asked, genuine fear in her eyes as she met the infuriated gaze of the Adrestian princess. 

“I have,” Edelgard’s voice was absolutely devoid of mercy as she moved to stand by Byleth’s side, her shield scored with blast marks from the spells she’d absorbed. “What you have done is unforgivable, and I will put an end to you here and now.” 

“Aw, isn’t this adorable!” Kronya sneered, gesturing with her dagger at her two pursuers. “Star-crossed lovers come to claim the wicked witch’s head! Too bad I’ll be the one killing you!” 

Byleth lunged in the middle of her speech, Kronya’s strangled yelp the only sound coming from her as the Sword of the Creator slashed into her leg. The assassin stumbled backwards and kept running, with professor and student now hot on her heels. 

The thick trees suddenly gave way up ahead, Byleth dimly remembering that this was a clearing, and something akin to satisfaction bubbled up inside of him at the sight of Kronya tripping over a gnarled root in her haste to flee. The Agarthan screamed as she hit stone, her body rolling a couple times before she stopped and pushed herself up to her knees. 

“But how? How could I actually lose to a lowly creature like you?” she seethed, blood falling to the stone around her. 

Byleth advanced, then stopped as Edelgard’s axe barred his way just before he could get onto the stone. 

“Wait, my teacher,” she was studying the odd structure in front of them. “This looks like an altar of sorts. She ran here for a reason. Stay off the stone.” 

Byleth looked at what she was talking about: the stone floor looked ancient but not overgrown, a rectangle with a cluster of odd pillars at each corner. 

“Well,” Solon’s familiar voice made all three pause, Kronya turning to where the ancient-looking mage was standing behind her. 

“Solon! Don’t just stand there and stare! I need your help!” Kronya snapped, at which the mage chuckled. 

“Yes, you most certainly do,” Solon approached Kronya, his eyes burning with purpose. 

“What are you waiting for?! Kill them both, now!” Nemesis roared, the Sword of the Creator burning in Byleth’s grasp. “Destroy them!” 

“My teacher?” Edelgard was looking at him in alarm. 

The world tinted yellow as another will expanded from the Relic, wrenching control of Byleth’s body and making him take an agonizingly slow step forward. 

“Byleth, wait! Don’t!” Edelgard was trying to stop him, but the will of the King of Liberation was a steel wall compared to even her unsurpassed strength. 

He kept moving, one slow dragging step at a time as he pushed back against Nemesis’s rage, against the burning thirst to tear the two Agarthans apart. Even when Solon plunged his hand into Kronya’s body with a disgusting crunch, blood pouring from the contact as he carried her towards the edge of the foundation, ignoring her screams and pleas for him to stop. 

Dark flames rippled around the mage, flickering darkness engulfing the four corner pillars and spreading to entrap Byleth inside of it. 

“Byleth! Byleth!” he could hear Edelgard behind him, screaming his name. 

Nemesis faltered, releasing Byleth from his grasp as the purple flames snapped out and latched onto his body, sending hot waves of agony through his nerves. 

“Oh, that’s not good,” the King of Liberation murmured. 

Solon wrenched something from Kronya’s chest and crushed it in his hand, the darkness intensifying as pain continued burning through Byleth. He tried to struggle, to wrench himself from the flames, but they only gripped him tighter 

Kronya fell upon her back, her eyes searching for Byleth’s as she looked up at him, stretching a hand out as if seeking salvation. 

“Please... help me...” she whimpered, then the flames devoured her. 

Byleth twisted his head to look at Edelgard, whose face was the purest picture of horror as she heaved her axe and fists against the flames, completely ignoring the way it scorched and melted her armor. 

“Byleth! Hold on!” she was shouting. “Hold on! I’ll break through!” 

Then the darkness swallowed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nemesis fucks up yet again! And wasn't he the one warning Byleth about traps, hmm?


	11. Breaking Free

There was nothing but darkness, nothing but the emptiness all around Byleth, save for the light emanating from the glowing Crest Stone in his chest. 

What the hell just happened? 

“Professor!” Edelgard’s voice made him spin, thinking perhaps he was hallucinating, but the princess was standing behind him, looking around with wide eyes. “Byleth, what happened?!” 

“El? How did you get here? I thought you were outside the altar,” Byleth rushed to his student’s side, worry tugging him at the sight of her burned and melted armor. “Are you okay?” 

Parts of her pauldron had melted into slag, her gauntlets faring little better, and Byleth remembered that she’d been striking the barrier with her fists and shoulder. Her axe, too, although it wasn’t present. 

“I think so, but where are we?” her voice was shaky as she looked around the void, and Byleth reached out to clasp her hand in his. 

Her grip tightened, and Byleth wondered if this void was giving her unpleasant memories to when she’d been trapped and experimented on in the basement of Enbarr’s Imperial Palace. At least the warmth generated by their contact seemed to relax her more. 

“El, look at me,” Byleth ordered, her gaze immediately locking onto him. “I’m with you. This isn’t Enbarr. You aren’t alone.” 

She nodded slowly, but her grip remained iron. “Byleth, I... forgive me: this place gave rise to memories I would rather not relive again. How do we get out of here?” 

A bright green flash pierced the darkness, making him squint and shield his eyes. 

“You fool!” Sothis’s infuriated voice filled the void, her gaze burning into him from where she sat on her throne, atop a stone staircase it always was whenever he saw her with it. “What were you thinking, charging right into an enemy trap?!” 

Byleth raised an eyebrow at her. “I didn’t do anything.” 

“I am not talking to you!” Sothis snapped, and Byleth turned as another light flared behind him. “I am to talking to that fool! That boulder that just rolls down whatever hill it’s on! No, even a boulder has more sense!” 

Nemesis was standing there, his expression subdued and perhaps ashamed. Embarrassed? 

“I... got ahead of myself. I was too desperate to kill them. Forgive me,” the ancient king murmured. 

Byleth had expected him to start bellowing at Sothis like always, for the two of them to start fighting and bickering as they were wont to do, but this was a pleasant surprise. 

“This is all your fault, you know,” Edelgard pointed out. “I saw Byleth’s eyes turn yellow as you pushed him forward.” 

“Damn it, I said I was sorry!” Nemesis spat. “I don’t want to be here, being yelled at by two stupid little girls!” 

“Apologizing won’t make things right!” Sothis shrieked, her fear plain on her face and in her halting voice as she looked around. “This darkness is terrifying!” 

She shuddered, then made a titanic effort to collect herself. “We are all one and the same, so we are all trapped in this void. This realm of darkness we are in is separate from the world from which you came. I mean that it would take a god to leave this place.” 

A god? What was she going to do? Edelgard’s grip tightened further, the princess struggling mightily to keep her composure steeled. 

“What do you mean? What are you going to do, Sothis?” the princess asked, but the Goddess remained silent. 

“Sothis?” Byleth had one burning question that he’d needed to ask, glad for the warmth generated by his contact with Edelgard. “What did you say to Nemesis?” 

Her sharp gaze locked onto the King of Liberation yet again, but it softened a bit. “You have done terrible things, unforgivable things, but I can feel your heart just as well as I can feel Byleth’s. Underneath all of that pain and hatred, I can feel the love you hold for the kingdom you once had, for its people. You only wanted to protect them, to protect all of Fodlan, even as your hubris drove you to slaughter everyone in Zanado. Your rage will not serve you anymore, nor will trying to force Byleth to follow your lead.” 

Edelgard stepped closer to Byleth as if her damaged armor would shield him from an unseen enemy, her eyes hard with steel as she glared at the King of Liberation. 

“It’s okay, El,” Byleth murmured, but she didn’t relent even as her eyes sought his own. 

“Back to the matter at hand,” Sothis looked at the two mortals and ghost. “In time, our hearts and minds will cease to be if we do not leave this place. Are you prepared to die?” 

“I am not,” Byleth stepped forward. 

“Neither am I,” Edelgard joined him, her hand squeezing his. 

Sothis’s face fell, her sorrow wrenching at the Crest Stone. “I thought as much. I also do not wish to die, and yet... There’s no other choice.” 

“Choice? What choice?” Nemesis demanded. 

“As you already know, you and I have been together since the very beginning. I have always been a part of you, always been with you, and it is within you that I found my power again,” She straightened on her throne, her face grim and determined. “The power of a goddess. The power of the progenitor god. I am the one who watches over Fodlan and the creatures dwelling there. I am Sothis, she who died and then returned.” 

Byleth nodded, an odd sort of acceptance filling his heart. “Somehow, I know it to be true.” 

“Byleth?” Edelgard whispered, a worried gaze staring at him. 

“It’ll be okay, I swear it,” he said, wondering if this warmth in his chest was from him or Sothis as he met Edelgard’s pale violet eyes. 

“There is but one thing left for me to do to save us from this darkness of eternity. I must now use the power of a god. However, I lack a body of my own. And so, I must relinquish all the power that I have... to you,” her face fell, a hint of fear in her emerald eyes. “The time has come for you and I to join as one. And when that comes to pass... then I shall disappear.” 

“Disappear?!” Byleth blanched, Edelgard repeating the words, the tug in his chest coming from either him or Sothis. 

“I do not mean that all I am will be no more,” Sothis explained, a faint smile forming on her lips. “My soul will join with yours, and you and I will never be apart. But.. I will no longer have the chance to speak with you. I shall miss it. For all that you have done... thank you. I’m glad that it was you to whom my fate was bound.” 

Byleth’s throat clogged but he managed to force out his words: “Thank you, for everything.” 

“Now... we must pray. For if we share this wish, our spirits two will join as one. Your wish is to return to the forest, stop the enemy, and rescue the little ones. No need for words: I know your heart as though it were my own,” Sothis smiled, a more genuine one this time. 

“Wait!” Nemesis stepped forward again. “What is your goal, Sothis? Why are you freeing us from this? Freeing me, who slaughtered your children, from eternal torment?” 

Byleth saw Edelgard shoot the man an annoyed glare, not that he could blame her. 

Sothis sighed as she shot a world-weary gaze at Nemesis. “I want the people of Fodlan to live in peace, for the world I watched over to be cared for and for those who threaten it to be defeated. I want Byleth to use this power to save and protect Fodlan, ensuring that what happened to your kingdom and Zanado never comes about again.” 

Nemesis balked, something akin to longing flickering in his eyes. “My... kingdom. My people...” 

“Let us work together to protect everyone we can, for the sake of the future,” Sothis rose from her throne, her smile returning. “Nemesis, you once fought because you wanted to protect the people from my children, aside from getting revenge, and I want you to help us find that conviction once again. Can you promise me that, King of Liberation? To fight for our people once again?” 

“I... if it’s for the people of Fodlan, then... I suppose this old warrior can lend his strength to that,” Nemesis murmured, his gaze impossible to read. 

“I will stand with Byleth as well, no matter what,” Edelgard added her voice to theirs, an odd look Byleth couldn’t discern locked onto Sothis. 

The Goddess began descending the stairway, her hair and dress swaying with each step she took. “Your will and mine are now as one. Both sides of time are revealed to you and you alone.” 

Nemesis slowly moved to the side, as if leaving room for the two whose souls were bound together. Edelgard didn’t move, staring defiantly at the Goddess as her hand remained interlaced with Byleth’s. Byleth’s heart felt peace... warmth... happiness. 

“You know I am the Beginning. What shall you do?” Sothis asked as she reached the bottom, stopping before Byleth. 

Her throne dissolved into golden light that swirled down and surrounded them, blinding with its brilliance as Sothis levitated to be face-level with Byleth. He held a hand out to her, the other still gripping Edelgard’s tightly, Sothis lifting her own as she drew closer to him. As their hands were about to touch, Sothis dissolved into green light, her body following suit as her face drew nearer and nearer to him. Right as her face nearly met Byleth’s, she fully vanished, and that green light poured into him along with the golden energy. 

There was nothing but the darkness and Edelgard’s presence at his side, the Crest Stone growing warmer and warmer inside of his chest, and then the power of the progenitor goddess exploded to life. 

The eruption of energy almost overwhelmed Edelgard, making her stumble, but she clung to Byleth’s hand with all the strength she could muster. Then it dimmed considerably, and Byleth drew the Sword of the Creator from his waist. 

The weapon pulsed with energy and then erupted into brilliant golden-red light, burning like a second sun as Byleth reared back and slashed it at the darkness. To her shock, the sword caught and actually began to open a blindingly bright scarlet tear in the fabric of the world. Byleth tried to cut downwards, but his grunting and the tremor of his body as the sword resisted told Edelgard everything she had to know. 

“Allow me!” she reached out with her free left hand and grabbed the Sword’s hilt, wincing at the smoldering heat that the bone hilt poured into her body. 

“Thanks, El!” Byleth grunted again, and Edelgard added her weight to the weapon. 

Slowly, the blade descended, cutting a wider and longer supernova into the world that forced Edelgard to look away from it. The burning in her hand was almost too much to bear, but she gritted her teeth and pushed onwards, her voice mingling with Byleth’s own as shouts of exertion escaped them both. 

“Now!” Byleth gripped her hand tighter, wrenching his Relic from the tear. 

The duo threw themselves into it, the darkness fading immediately to return them to the altar. Edelgard’s armored boots slammed into the stone, metal rattling and pain shooting up her legs at the impact. 

“Lady Edelgard!” Hubert and the rest of the class were standing behind them, relief Edelgard had rarely seen shining in the mage’s eyes. 

“Guys! I told you this wasn’t the end!” Caspar cheered, pumping a fist into the air. 

Edelgard’s heart lurched, her burns fading into the background as the power of the Sword of the Creator coursed through her veins. 

“So, the Fell Star consumes even the darkness, itself,” Solon gasped, his eyes wide as he stared at them. 

“Professor!” her voice carried her joy and relief all too well, the only thing that made her pause was the shock of bright green hair that rustled around his head. 

“Bah!” Solon teleported away to a hill overlooking the altar, light flaring as he summoned more soldiers and Demonic Beasts. “It would have taken a god to escape the darkness of Zahras... I need to end this now, or I will never get the chance to send you back!” 

“Everyone alright?” Byleth asked in the silence that followed, turning and letting his equally green eyes look over his assembled students. 

He looked so much like Rhea with that hair and eyes... was he still Byleth? Was he still her teacher? 

“You look... let’s take care of Solon first,” Edelgard shook her head and had to bite her tongue to keep an embarrassing remark about his attractiveness from slipping out, keenly aware that she was still holding Byleth’s hand with one of her own and the Sword of the Creator with her other. 

They were turned awkwardly towards each other to accommodate their intertwined fingers: her right in Byleth’s left and Byleth holding his right out in front of him to allow Edelgard to grasp the sword with her left. 

The Agarthan soldiers roared and charged towards the altar, Demonic Beasts stomping forward with only one target in mind: Byleth. 

“Defensive formations!” Edelgard shouted to her classmates, glancing down at the half-melted shield she’d discarded. “Damn it...” 

Byleth looked at her, then let go of her hand to shift his sword from his right into his left. Edelgard quickly swapped the hand she once held Byleth’s with on the weapon as well: exchanging the left for the right and wrapping her fingers around the bone hilt just below his. 

“Much better,” he commented, smiling at her. 

Her heart lurched in her chest as she returned the smile. “Indeed.” 

Byleth looked at the onrushing enemies, his gaze hardening. “Together?” 

Oh, how that word made her heart pound! “Together.” 

She couldn’t take her fingers from the weapon, but part of her didn’t want to as she and Byleth snapped the weapon skyward. The Relic extended with an explosion of energy and sparks, streaking up into the sky like a rippling serpent. The Demonic Beasts lunged, their jaws open wide as if to swallow them whole, and Edelgard was a hair-thin thread away from moving to throw her armored body over her beloved Professor. 

The Sword of the Creator descended in a burning meteor that whipped around in a blazing tornado as Byleth’s hand descended alongside Edelgard’s, ripping apart the heads of both Demonic Beasts and shredding them into nothingness. The wind that followed in its wake whipped Edelgard’s hair around wildly, but she managed to look over to see Byleth grinning- _ grinning _\- at her. 

“By the Goddess,” Ferdinand breathed. 

Edelgard almost agreed. 

“Shall we?” Byleth asked, looking more wonderful and breathtaking than Edelgard had thought possible, even with his green eyes and hair. 

“Let’s,” she answered, the duo standing back to back and extending the hands holding the Relic out. 

Byleth let the sword snap back together before the two of them sent it flying in an impossibly wide arc at the soldiers stampeding towards him, the burning line of the Relic tearing through men and armor as if they were naught but paper. Edelgard’s shoulder jolted painfully at the attempt to match her movements with Byleth’s own, forcing her to step forward a bit to keep the Relic moving. In mere moments, all of Solon’s reinforcements had been reduced to dark, ravaged lumps on the ground, the Sword of the Creator whipping up air as it snapped together into a singular entity yet again. 

Solon sent a wave of dark magic from where he was standing above the altar, but one swing from the Sword of the Creator ripped the attack apart. Their hands were blazing as Byleth crouched alongside Edelgard, his intentions clear as she gathered her own muscles, and then the duo sprinted towards the dark mage, who was gathering more magic in his hands. 

“Go, Professor!” Caspar cheered. 

“Go, Edie!” Dorothea added her own cheer, the rest of the class following suit. 

Bolts of powerful darkness rained down on them, exploding wherever they hit and sending shards of stone shrapnel in every direction, but Edelgard kept running forward. A rippling cyclone of dark energy spiraled towards them after Solon finished a rather lengthy incantation, but the blade of scarlet light clutched in their hands ripped through the cyclone and dispersed it with a single swipe. 

Edelgard’s heart was utterly enthralled as the duo continued their mad dash, their hands moving in near-perfect sync with each slash despite the difference in their height. How was this even possible? For them to be moving so perfectly together? 

“Ready to jump?” Byleth asked. 

“Jump?” Edelgard repeated, her gaze lifting to the cliff towering over them. “How?” 

Byleth flashed her another wicked grin that filled her with the desire to kiss him properly. “Like this!” 

She almost ground her heels into the dirt as he stopped, gathering his muscles and tossing the Relic into his right hand. His arm wrapped around Edelgard’s waist, the spark of energy making the hair on her now-freed arms stand on end before she recovered the presence of mind to wrap them around Byleth’s neck. They shot upwards on the waves of Sothis’s power, wind whipping Edelgard’s face and making tears stream from her eyes as her stomach dropped further within her body. 

Then the blurred cliff face gave way to another altar of sorts, where Solon was standing with his grotesque eyes wide with shock. Their feet hit the ground, Byleth letting go of Edelgard to transfer his sword back into his left hand. She shook off the daze making her head swim and released Byleth from her grasp, then grabbed the sword with her own right hand, the electrical shock from the contact chasing making the world sharpen into focus. 

“No, no, no!” Solon seethed. “You were supposed to die! Both of you worms! I will not lose to mere beasts!” 

He spread his hands, his guttural voice chanting and gathering pitch-black particles of magic in the space before his chest. Edelgard glanced at Byleth, whose lips tightened into a narrow line as he met her gaze and nodded. 

Together. 

Holding the burning Relic between them, Edelgard and Byleth took one slow step, then another, and another, walking and then jogging and then sprinting towards Solon, their voices once again joining together into a wordless battle cry. 

“Now perish!” Solon roared, loosing from his hands a veritable javelin of darkness that swallowed all light as it streaked forward. 

Byleth and Edelgard thrust out with the Sword of the Creator, the impact of the dark magic on the sword making their arms tremble as they fought to keep moving forward. The dark power flooded around them, blotting out the rest of the world, but the Sword of the Creator blazed even brighter. 

They burst through the magic, Edelgard almost laughing at the look of sheer horror and disbelief that etched Solon’s face. He tried to lift his hands to cast another spell, his lips forming the incantation, but the burning Relic slammed into his chest. 

“D-damn you... F-Flame...” the Agarthan’s last words made Edelgard’s heart lurch with fear before the creature went limp, his flesh squelching as his body slid off of the Relic and slumped onto the ground, lifeless and still. 

Edelgard swallowed the lump that formed in her throat, the heat of the Sword of the Creator sending white-hot needles through her veins. Her muscles ached, spots dancing across her vision, and something shining close by drew her attention back down to the sword. The hands that were wrapped around the weapon were emblazoned with the Crest of Flames, the cursed symbol glowing brightly above their flesh. 

“El,” Byleth’s voice drew her gaze up to him, to the weary smile that he was giving her. “Let’s not do that again: my arm felt like it was about to be ripped from the socket. That probably wasn’t the best idea.” 

The sheer ridiculousness of his words made a laugh escape her, an impulse to step closer and press herself against him nearly overpowering her senses. 

“Guys!” the rest of their class stormed towards them, grinning like maniacs with the exception of Hubert, though his relief was plain as he rushed to her side. 

She and Byleth separated, the energy filling her from the Relic fading the moment she broke contact with it, their Crests fading as well. 

“That. Was. Incredible!” Caspar yelled. “How did you guys do that?!” 

“That was quite something, Edie! Professor! The two of you were just made for each other!” Dorothea cooed, shooting Edelgard a knowing, sly wink. 

“Please, calm down,” Byleth ordered, the Sword of the Creator dimming as he hooked it to his waist. 

“It’s over, Lady Edelgard,” Hubert murmured, the fear evident in his voice. “What will happen now?” 

“I don’t know,” Edelgard answered, but she didn’t find it in herself to care. 

Byleth was alive, that was all that mattered. Both of them were. 

“Everyone, see to your soldiers,” Edelgard ordered, predictably earning complaints from everyone but Hubert. “Now.” 

Her final command quelled their protests, her classmates shuffling away reluctantly until it was just her and Byleth. Dorothea shot her another wink, making a ‘go on’ gesture with her hands before Edelgard’s glare made the girl practically skip away. 

She looked at him, really looked at those green eyes of his while the overwhelming waves of his powerful presence washed over her. “That hair... and those eyes... You remind me of Rhea.” 

It was only then that she let herself relax, the weight of everything settling down upon her shoulders. Gods, what a heavy burden! It made everything ache. 

Edelgard shook her head slowly, the weight of her armor also heavy upon her aching body as well. “Just how will you use this new power, Professor?” 

He gave her a wry smile. “For the reason I was gifted it: for the people of this world. You were there: you heard Sothis and Nemesis.” 

She couldn’t stop the smile from curving her lips as well. “That is so like you to say that. Tell me: if the world, and your students included, were to divide and go to war with one another, what would you do?” 

Byleth frowned, and Edelgard immediately regretted asking, but she needed to know the answer, needed to know if he’d choose her. “In this scenario, each side would represent both the world and your students. Who would you-” 

Then his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed, Edelgard’s question dying on her lips as she all but threw herself onto her knees at his side. 

“Professor?! Byleth?!” he was breathing, thankfully, he had simply passed out. “This must be a side effect of your recent... changes.” 

His face was so peaceful, so captivating as she looked at him, a smile she could only consider foolish and smitten curving her lips. On a whim, Edelgard reached out and gently brushed a hand against his cheek, her Crest heating up absurdly fast the moment they touched before fading. 

“What on earth?’ she murmured, frowning at the energy she felt crackling through her blood, filling her with power. 

“She sacrificed her consciousness for him,” Nemesis’s voice made her jump and wrench her hand away from Byleth. 

“What? Where is... oh!” Edelgard realized her error and quickly placed her hand back on Byleth’s own, the King of Liberation appearing at her side once again. 

“That blasted girl... Sothis. She gave the boy her power in order to save Fodlan from those who would threaten it, to protect all of its people,” the king rumbled. “I... I always thought the dragon’s Goddess would be as arrogant and deluded as the rest of her children, but talking with her and... being yelled at by her showed me how wrong I was. I still hate dragons, especially Seiros, don’t get me wrong, but Sothis was... different, somehow. More honest.” 

“So, your opinion of her has changed?” Edelgard asked, curiosity filling her as she silently admitted that she felt similar after witnessing what she had. 

“Of her, yes,” Nemesis nodded slowly, staring down at Byleth. “Of the Beginning, who was willing to sacrifice herself to give her champion the power to protect everyone he can in Fodlan. She’s different than the others, I will admit that much.” 

Edelgard looked down at Byleth as well, smiling at how peaceful he looked. “And do you still think I will bring ruin upon him?” 

“I do, but now he has more power than ever before. I don’t think even you would be able to stand against the progenitor god incarnate, no matter how strong you are,” Nemesis folded his muscular arms. “And not when I am here with him.” 

Edelgard lifted her gaze to glare at him, her heart smoldering with anger. “You were the one who caused this, you know. I saw his eyes turn yellow when he walked forward into the trap: the same yellow as yours, might I add.” 

Nemesis winced. “I know... and I am not so foolish as to deny my wrongdoing. My pride has caused me to make many foolish choices, but this one might have more benefit than harm.” 

“That remains to be seen,” Edelgard growled, absently running a thumb over Byleth’s still hand. “I can’t just leave him here... I could carry him back, but... no, I’d better call for Hubert.” 

“I’d offer, but I can’t physically touch the boy even though I’m part of him,” Nemesis said helpfully. 

“Thanks for the offer,” Edelgard said drily, looking down at her damaged armor and the ruffled, frayed hair that she could see draped around her shoulders. 

“You followed him, you know,” Nemesis pointed out. “Got yourself trapped in there just like I did.” 

Her cheeks burned as she rose to her full height, glaring up into the King of Liberation’s face while keeping her foot in contact with Byleth’s leg. “I followed him because he is dear to me and I will not allow anything to happen to him so long as I am here.” 

Nemesis grinned, leaning down to invade her personal space. “You followed him because you’re utterly smitten with him. Even I can see that. Call your lapdog and get the boy out of here before you cause another horror to befall him.” 

“I do not answer to you,” Edelgard retorted, silently grateful that nobody could see her bickering with something only she could see at the moment. 

“But you answer to him, yes?” Nemesis jerked his chin at Byleth. “What are you going to do now, girl? He’s become the same thing you’ve sworn to destroy: dragonkind and a child of the Goddess.” 

Edelgard almost hesitated, but the answer immediately came to her. “No. I will never hunt Byleth regardless of what he’s become.” 

“Keep telling yourself that when the time comes for your ambition to place you on opposite sides,” Nemesis warned. “See if your love will keep your axe from plunging into his neck.” 

Love? Edelgard faltered, the word making her feel even hotter as her eyes glimpsed Byleth’s still face. Sure, she’d admitted that she had a crush on him, but love? 

“That’s what I thought,” Nemesis vanished in a burst of light, leaving Edelgard with far more questions than answers. 

“Damn you,” she muttered. “Hubert!” 

Her vassal appeared as if he’d been awaiting her summons, bowing at the waist. “Your Highness.” 

“Help me carry Byleth back to the horses,” Edelgard ordered, looking down at her professor. “And make preparations to embark to Enbarr. It’s time.” 

The world would be reshaped by her hands, and Edelgard hoped with all that she was that Byleth would be at her side throughout it. 

Everything hinged on this month. Just one more month... 


	12. Imperial Coronation

Byleth awoke in his room, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he pushed himself to sit up. His supplies were in the same places as always, the faint smell of lilac permeating the air. 

Had that been a dream? Him waking up in Rhea’s chambers while the archbishop sang to him? 

“I will watch over you, always and forever,” she’d said before darkness had fallen again. 

“It wasn’t a dream,” Nemesis was standing off to the side, his arms folded before his chest. “You’ve been asleep for a week, boy.” 

A week? Damn it! 

“Did Rhea say anything while I was asleep?” Byleth asked the King of Liberation, whose scowl deepened. 

“Just some nonsense about taking you to the Holy Tomb to finish the ritual,” Nemesis grunted. “I tried hitting her as hard as I could, but nothing connected. Couldn’t get any other answers out of her.” 

“Holy Tomb?” Byleth frowned, fuzziness blooming within his chest. 

“Where Sothis’s remains were buried along with a bunch of others, deep in the mountains. It’s where I stole what I needed for the Relics a millennium ago,” Nemesis explained. 

“And Seiros wants me to go there so Sothis can take over my body and return to the living?” Byleth guessed, instinctively looking around for the absent Goddess even though he knew he wouldn’t find her. 

“It’s... quieter without her,” Nemesis murmured, falling silent a moment later. 

Byleth tossed off his covers and pushed himself to stand, his bare feet sinking into the plush rug covering much of his floor. “Has anyone come by while I slept?” 

Nemesis snorted. “Has your favorite princess come to check on you, you mean? She has, many times, when she and Hubert weren’t busy with something in Enbarr.” 

“Something in Enbarr?” Byleth straightened his black shirt and pants, lifting a hand to cover the yawn that split his mouth open. 

“Yeah. Your little princess is setting up something in the capitol, something that apparently requires her to return there for a few days, but she’s been stalling her departure,” Nemesis lowered his arms, cocking his head to the side as if hearing something. “Ah, I think she’s coming here now.” 

Byleth listened as well, catching the familiar click of Edelgard’s heels against stone. Sure, there were quite a few female students who wore heels with their uniform, but Edelgard’s made a rather distinct sound when she walked. 

Knuckles rapped on the door. “Professor, are you awake?” 

“Yeah, I am,” Byleth answered, and the door was all but flung open by his wide-eyed student, the slam of wood on wood making him wince. 

“Professor!” her violet irises were shining with relief as she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him. 

Apparently the knocking had only been a curtesy. 

“Hey, El,” he managed to push out of his constricted lungs as Edelgard buried her face into his chest. “Good to see you.” 

She pushed herself back, her eyes gleaming as she smiled up at him. “Welcome back, my teacher.” 

Then her face reddened and she hurriedly released him from her grasp, clearing her throat as she stepped back to compose herself. 

“M-my apologies! I was just so relieved that you were finally awake,” she stammered, not quite meeting his gaze. 

“El,” Byleth held his arms out in an invitation when she looked back at him. 

“A-are you sure?” she asked, an embarrassed smile creeping upon her lips when he nodded. “If you insist.” 

She stepped forward and again wrapped her arms around his torso, holding him tightly against herself as Byleth draped his own arms around her shoulders. 

“I do insist,” he replied, shooting Nemesis a warning glare as the King snorted. 

“Be quiet, you crusty old bastard,” Edelgard said, her voice muffled by Byleth’s body. 

“Huh, girl has some stones, after all,” Nemesis snorted again, an amused smirk playing across his mouth. 

“How are you feeling, El?” Byleth asked after a few moments of drinking in their warm embrace, feeling Edelgard’s heartbeat against his own chest. 

“I am fine. I’m more worried about you: you were asleep for a week!” Edelgard broke their embrace and stepped back, his arms falling back to his side as she scrutinized him. “Are you feeling hungry at all?” 

“I’m not,” Byleth examined himself as well, then glanced up at the troubled expression etched onto Edelgard’s face. “You look like you want to ask me a favor.” 

She winced. “Am I really that easy to read? Well, I do: I have some business in Enbarr and I would like for you to join me. It should only take a few days, so we’ll be back in time for the ritual at the Holy Tomb.” 

“Ritual?” Byleth frowned, feigning ignorance despite the look Nemesis was giving him. “What ritual?” 

“Ah, right: you’ve been asleep. Rhea has declared that there’s to be a ritual at the end of the month in some Holy Tomb,” Edelgard explained. “Because you’ve been gifted power from the Goddess, you must now seek out a divine revelation from Sothis, herself, in the Holy Tomb.” 

Her face was sour as she spoke, her hands resting on her hips. 

“I don’t think Sothis will say anything to me,” Byleth frowned. “I can’t hear her anymore.” 

“I know, which is why I fear Rhea is hoping you will fulfil your purpose as a vessel during this ‘ritual’ and yield your body to Sothis,” Edelgard said, a murderous light flickering within her eyes. “I don’t know how she will react once it fails.” 

“I don’t either, but what was it you were saying about Enbarr?” 

“I have some important business I need to attend to, and I would like you to join me,” Edelgard reiterated. “If you’re concerned about the lectures, this trip will be over the weekend, and Manuela has already agreed to cover any lecture days you miss on my behalf. I’ve already cleared this with Seteth, as well, so all I need is your answer.” 

Huh, she was quite thorough, he’d give her that. 

“Yeah, I’ll go with you,” Byleth nodded, the relief in Edelgard’s eyes making his lips tug upwards on their own. 

“Excellent! I already have a carriage waiting outside the monastery gates for us,” the princess declared, making Byleth raise an eyebrow. 

“I still need to pack,” he said slowly, half-expecting her to already have an answer to that issue. 

She gave a rather conspiratorial smile. “Your armor and extra clothing have already been loaded onto the carriage. All we’re missing is you and the Sword of the Creator.” 

“You knew I was going to agree to go with you,” Byleth said drily, unable to stop the warmth from filling his chest. 

“I was sorely hoping you would, otherwise this would have been rather awkward to explain,” Edelgard replied, a small laugh escaping her lips. 

“Awkward, indeed,” Byleth agreed, looking down at himself to see how much of a bath he’d need to take. 

“Well, let’s be off, my teacher!” Edelgard announced, turning on her heel to start out the room. 

“El, I haven’t bathed or anything,” Byleth protested. “I can’t accompany the future Emperor while smelling and looking like I crawled out a gutter.” 

The raised eyebrow she gave him made his mind stutter. 

“Don’t tell me you had me bathed,” he muttered, experimentally taking a whiff of his underarms. 

Lilacs. That had been what he was smelling earlier. 

“I didn’t. Rhea did,” Edelgard assured him. “You were covered in dirt and blood, as were the rest of us when the battle ended, so she had you bathed. She’s had it done every day since you slept, saying something about keeping up appearances now that you had the Goddess’s power at your command.” 

“That explains why I smell like lilacs,” Byleth muttered, running a hand through his now bright green hair. “I’m still not used to that.” 

“The hair and eyes? I’m not, either, if I’m being honest, but as long as you’re still Byleth, I think I can manage,” Edelgard said. “And before you ask: No, I don’t know who Rhea had bathe you.” 

“I see,” Byleth shook his head. 

Well, it wasn’t as embarrassing as it could have been, he supposed. 

Edelgard lightly tugged on his hand. “Get your boots on and let’s go, my teacher. I’ve already stalled for three days, waiting to see if you’d wake up.” 

“Okay, okay!” Byleth pulled a pair of woolen socks from his dresser and pulled them over his feet, the warmth gripping his feet as he slipped them into his boots and laced them up. 

That done, Byleth grabbed the Sword of the Creator and hooked it to his belt. 

“What would you have done if I hadn’t woken up yet?” he asked Edelgard as the duo strode out of his room and into the warm midmorning day. 

The sun was rising slowly into the sky, golden rays chasing away the early morning chill despite the moisture still clinging to much of the greenery, the dewdrops glittering in the sunlight. 

“Tried to stall for more time, but Hubert was starting to lose his patience with me,” Edelgard answered, straightening her back and keeping her gait steady as she strode ahead of him, white hair swaying alongside her red cape. “I maybe would have bought one or two more days, at the most. Everyone’s been worried about you.” 

“Does Rhea know about this trip?” Byleth asked as they walked down to the lower levels of the dorms, students calling out to him when he passed. 

“Seteth gave me permission to bring you, so I’d imagine she does,” Edelgard’s sharp gaze diverted much of the attention from the professor to anything else. 

“Hey, Profe- augh!” Annette’s greeting turned into a yelp as the girl and Mercedes waved greetings from outside Mercedes’s dorm room. 

Byleth raised an eyebrow at her. “What?” 

Annette shook her head, cheeks red with embarrassment. “Sorry, Professor! I’m not used to seeing you look like that! I almost thought you were a different person!” 

“That wasn’t very nice, Annie,” Mercedes chided, her gentle voice matching the smile she offered. “It’s good to see you up and about, Professor! Are you feeling well?” 

“Well enough, thank you,” Byleth nodded to her. “And you?” 

“Oh, I’m quite fine, thank you! Please don’t overexert yourself! If there’s anything I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” 

“Yeah, me too!” Annette added hurriedly, beaming at Byleth. “Just say the word if we can help at all!” 

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you both,” Byleth lifted a hand in farewell. “Don’t overdo it, either, alright? Keep an eye on Annette for me, Mercedes.” 

“I will!” Mercedes laughed while Annette gave a whine of protest. 

They continued past the pond, with Byleth on the receiving end of stares from students and staff alike, admiring his newly colored hair and eyes. 

“Professor Byleth looks so different!” he heard a male student whispering to his female companion, who was staring at the subject of their conversation. “What do you think happened?” 

“I don’t know, but he looks far dreamier than before,” the girl murmured. 

Dreamy? Really? 

“Oh, come on...” the boy sighed. “You know Edelgard has already claimed him for herself. You’d be better off chasing Dimitri or Ferdinand.” 

Edelgard’s only indication that she’d heard this exchange was a slight faltering in her step. Byleth resisted the urge to chuckle at it and kept following her, leaning in a bit closer so only she could hear him. 

“So, have you claimed me for yourself?” he whispered. 

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed. 

They walked in silence towards the front gates and the market stalls, the cheery gatekeeper jokingly remarking about not recognizing Byleth as they passed him. 

That man deserved a raise, in Byleth’s opinion. 

“Ah, Lady Edelgard!” an Imperial soldier was waiting by the gates, bowing stiffly to his liege as she approached. “I take it this is Professor Eisner?” 

Eisner? Hardly anyone used his last name for anything, not even Rhea. 

“It is. He is awakened and ready to travel with us, so I apologize for the delay,” Edelgard answered, her voice and bearing regal and imperious. “Let us be off.” 

The Imperial led the duo out of the gates, passing beneath the heavy portcullis and by the white-armored knights guarding it, who were utterly dwarfed by the impressive carriage awaiting its passengers. 

It was made of sleek ebony, gleaming like obsidian while a team of six powerfully built horses were hitched to the front of it. The twin-headed eagle of Adrestia was emblazoned on the doors, the Hresvelg coat of arms painted in gold beside it. 

“It’s impressive,” Byleth commented as Edelgard led him forward. 

“Reserved only for the use of the Imperial Royal Family,” the princess answered as a man clad in a red tunic opened the door to the carriage for them. 

Byleth skirted around Edelgard and offered her a hand as they approached the steps of the carriage. She smirked and took it, allowing him to help her ascend into the carriage’s exterior. 

“Very noble of you,” she drawled as Byleth climbed up after her, marveling at the cushy red seats awaiting him and Edelgard. 

“Thank you,” he unhooked his Relic and set it against the closest seat, frowning at the tightness of the boxy interior. 

Edelgard sat down across from him, sighing heavily as her body sank into the cushy red velvet. Byleth seated himself as well, marveling at how the cushion wrapped around his rear and back. 

The door shut from the outside, and a Silence rune flared to life the moment it was locked. Byleth raised an eyebrow at Edelgard, who gave him a wry smile. 

“I trust the Imperial staff and royal guards, but there are just some things I’d rather they not overhear,” she offered by way of explanation, reaching up and rapping a knuckle against the ceiling three times. 

Voices shouted outside, the carriage rattling as its horse team came alive and started to haul them forward. 

“Form up!” the windows offered a clear view of the heavily armored Great Knights spurring their massive battlehorses into formation around the carriage, their shields emblazoned with the twin-headed eagle. 

Byleth would have hated to be on the receiving end of their murderous silver axes, which gleamed ominously in the sunlight. 

“Byleth, thank you for agreeing to come with me,” Edelgard spoke up after the rattling and clanking from outside had softened somewhat. “I feel... much better about what’s to come ahead now that you’re by my side.” 

“I’m glad to be here with you,” he answered honestly, his chest warming at the way Edelgard’s cheeks flushed in their adorable way. “What’s going on, anyway?” 

Her expression softened, her gaze lowering to the carpeted floor as the bumping of the carriage wheels against cobblestone made her hair sway. “My father isn’t faring well. It’s time for me to take up the mantle of Emperor of Adrestia while he still draws breath.” 

Oh.... she was about to lose her father, just as Byleth had. 

Come to think of it... that void that had opened inside of him had closed, filled with warmth and what felt like... Sothis? She was filling the emptiness, he could feel her, and Byleth found yet another thing to be grateful to the little Goddess for. 

“I’m sorry, El,” he reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’ll be by your side through every moment I can.” 

She looked up with a grateful smile on her lips. “Thank you, Byleth. Having you here means the world to me, I hope you know that.” 

“Should I call you ‘Emperor Edelgard’ and offer you a bow every time we meet after this?” Byleth mused, earning a light swat at his hand. 

“I’ll always just be Edelgard to you, Byleth,” she chided, fighting laughter even as her eyes shone with amusement. “Or El, if you prefer when it’s just us.” 

“I think I prefer El, too,” Byleth nodded. “It’s a cute nickname.” 

“It’s good to see you smiling like this, Byleth,” Edelgard laughed. “You know, when you first started teaching the Black Eagles, part of me wondered if you were even human at times.” 

“I’ve heard that before,” Byleth reminded her, to which she nodded. 

“So you’ve said, but it’s refreshing to see how much emotion you’ve come to express lately compared to how empty and blank you were at first,” Edelgard’s cheeks flamed as she gave a rather coy smile. “I find your smiles to be especially captivating.” 

“Did Dorothea tell you to say that?” Byleth asked, and Edelgard deflated. 

“Yes,” she admitted. “She won’t stop giving me ‘advice’ on how I can win over your affections ever since the Sealed Forest. Honestly, I was terrified that she was going to lock me in her room and smother me with makeup.” 

“So, you’re trying to win over my affections?” Byleth mused, trying to ignore how his pulse pounded his head and the warmth spread from within his still heart Stone. 

“No! I mean, I’m not... that is...” Edelgard let go of his hand and straightened her back, making a herculean effort to steel her expression as she glared at Byleth and folded her arms before her chest. “You would do well to remember who you’re traveling with, Professor Eisner. I am Edelgard von Hresvelg, heir apparent of the Adrestian Empire!” 

“And you’re very cute when you’re trying to be serious while blushing,” Byleth pointed out, and Edelgard deflated while her face turned even redder. 

“Damn it, Byleth, I’m trying to keep this cordial!” she complained. 

He chuckled, unsure where all this mirth was coming from. “Sorry, El.” 

“I find it hard to forgive you when you have that silly grin on your face!” Edelgard scowled at him, but her stern expression was wavering. 

“Okay, I’ll stop with the silly grin,” Byleth turned his face back into the stone he was known for, noting immediately how Edelgard’s expression changed. 

If one hadn’t been familiar with her facial expressions and mannerisms, it would have been impossible to detect the disappointment in her eyes and the scrunching of her brow. 

“El, is there anything you wanted to talk about?” Byleth asked, reaching out and placing his hand on hers. 

She turned her hand over to wrap her fingers around his, the disappointment in her face changing to apprehension. “I... I have lived my entire life knowing I would one day take up the mantle of Emperor, but I must admit I am... concerned about taking on the responsibilities so soon.” 

“You have Hubert and a lot of other advisors to help you, right?” Byleth rubbed gentle circles into her hand with his thumb, trying to see if he could help soothe her nerves. “You won’t be doing all of this alone.” 

A gentle smile curved her lips. “I suppose you’re right, Byleth. I’m so glad to have spent all this time with you, you know that? If it weren’t for you... I do not know what kind of stone-cold ruler I might have become.” 

“You don’t give yourself nearly enough credit, El,” Byleth assured her, but the princess shook her head. 

“No, I don’t give you nearly enough credit, my teacher. Your kindness and the way you’ve supported me from the very beginning have opened my eyes,” Edelgard insisted, her grip squeezing his hand. “And I’m not just saying that because I have this ridiculous crush on you.” 

“Why do you think it’s ridiculous?” Byleth asked. “We’ve worked and fought closely together for over half a year, so it’s only natural that we’d develop some form of affection for one another.” 

“Because I’m a student and you’re my teacher?” Edelgard suggested. 

“Technically, I’m a mercenary who was forced to teach,” Byleth corrected her. “I’ve been cramming the lectures into my head before giving them to you all. I don’t have any formal training or certifications, so I don’t even know why Alois recommended me for the position.” 

“Could have fooled me, given how well you’ve adapted to the role,” Edelgard laughed. “For what it’s worth, you’ve done a wonderful job teaching us Black Eagles both on and off the battlefield. I can say with full confidence that we’re all better warriors and people because of you.” 

“Thank you, El. I can say that I’m a better person because of all of you,” Byleth smiled at her, the warmth in his chest intensifying. 

“You’re making this very difficult, my teacher,” Edelgard complained again, her fingers tightening around his own. 

“Making what difficult?” he teased, not really sure what the hells he was doing but quite enjoying Edelgard’s reactions to it. 

She glared at him in response. “If you weren’t Byleth, I would throw you out this carriage and let the royal guard trample you.” 

Edelgard was serious: he could see it in her eyes that he was dangerously close to overstepping the boundaries she’d placed between them. 

“Okay. I’m sorry, Edelgard,” he let go of her hand and eased back into his seat, glancing out the window at the green countryside passing by in between the armored forms of the royal guards. 

“No, I’m sorry, Byleth,” Edelgard’s voice drew his attention to her, to the red that now blazed across her cheeks as she steeled herself for something. 

“El?” he frowned, defensive instincts kicking in as his eyes darted to the Sword of the Creator lying just out of reach. “What are you-” 

She lunged, Byleth’s body freezing as her own warmth slammed into him. Instead of cold steel in his heart, he was met by the tender softness of Edelgard’s lips meeting his as her body’s weight settled upon him. Her hands clutched at his, her eyes closed as she pulled him closer to her. 

Finally, she pulled away, eyes not meeting his and her face beet red as she inhaled greedily to fill her lungs back up. “I’m sorry. I just... I couldn’t...” 

Byleth leaned over and silenced her with his own lips, the warmth of Edelgard’s sinking into his body with a pleasant tingling as a surprised gasp escaped her and she melted into him. Eventually a lack of air forced them apart, his lungs straining for oxygen as he filled them back up. 

“Do I have to apologize for that?” he asked after finally catching his breath, the desire to kiss her again almost overwhelming. 

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, reaching up to tenderly stroke his cheek with a gloved hand. 

The fabric made his skin itch, but the gentleness of it made his chest bloom with more fuzzy warmth that made his head spin. He could see why people enjoyed these acts of affection: they were almost intoxicating. 

Did El feel this way now? 

“So, uh, what does this mean for us?” Byleth asked hesitantly, not wanting this moment to end. 

He became painfully aware of Edelgard leaning into him, the weight of her body making his own sink further into the seat. And then there were the windows... oh Goddess, the guards! 

“They can’t see inside,” Edelgard said after she saw his glance to the outside. “But we have a method of communicating with them as well as a trapdoor meant to dispose of would-be assassins, among other things.” 

“Oh,” Byleth mumbled, not wanting to be gored on those vicious silver axes for kissing the future Emperor. 

“And as for what this means,” Edelgard continued, a devilish smirk on her lips despite how red her face was. “Will this answer suffice, my dear Byleth?” 

She leaned in and kissed him again, her lips gliding hesitantly against his own as she experimented, both of them equally inexperienced and plainly showing it as he clumsily tried to match her movements. 

At least Nemesis was staying quiet. 

They separated again as their lungs screamed for relief, gulping down air as Edelgard’s shining eyes bored into Byleth’s own. 

“That was quite an answer,” he murmured after several moments, and Edelgard gave a short huff of laughter at that. “You get a perfect score from me.” 

“And I hope to get far more before we’re done here,” she said in a playful tone, exhaling heavily before sitting at his side and leaning her head against him. “Am I dreaming, Byleth?” 

He draped his arm around her shoulders, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “I don’t think so. I’m feeling it, too.” 

This fuzzy, wonderful warmth... this lightness in his chest that made him want to stay like this forever. 

He could have sworn that some of the royal guards were peering inside the carriage, a frown curving his lips as several of them exchanged what appeared to be coinpurses, their body language either triumphant or defeated. 

“Uh, El? I think your guards can see into the carriage,” he said carefully, the girl on his shoulder straightening and shooting a curious look out the window, which immediately turned into horror and blistering embarrassment. 

“The glass should prevent them from seeing inside!” she spluttered, a strangled noise escaping her throat when she saw a couple of them still trading coin. “Did they bet on us?!” 

“Oh, hell, I think she saw us!” one guard alerted his brethren after glancing back at the carriage. “Deactivate the spell, quickly!” 

The visors on their helmets flared as the knights fell back into formation, pointedly looking everywhere but at the carriage. 

“I am going to kill them,” Edelgard seethed, the embarrassed heat radiating from her sinking into Byleth’s body. “They have a spell on their visors that negates the glass’s enchantments and they didn’t tell me?!” 

Byleth patted the top of her head, his hand immediately being swatted aside by the princess as she all but threw herself into the bench across from his. 

“That is the most embarrassing thing that could have possibly happened,” she muttered, clenching her uniform skirt in her hands as she glared daggers at the mounted knights. “It appears I have a few things to say to the guards about discretion with this is all done with.” 

Byleth found himself missing her presence at his side, but he could see that she was not in any mood to oblige him should he ask or attempt to sit with her, so he looked out the window at the forest now passing by the carriage. 

“Hey, El?” he finally spoke after what felt like an eternity of silence. “Can you tell me about Enbarr? I’ve been there a couple times with my father, but we never stayed long enough to really see the city.” 

Her gaze lifted from the floor at that, any trace of red gone from her cheeks as she locked gleaming violet eyes upon him. “I would be happy to.” 

And she launched into a very detailed narrative about her home, the way the city was etched into the landscape and the hills and of the canals cutting through the blocks, the markets and the temples littering the ancient city. The sun was sinking towards the horizon when they finally arrived, painting the sky with fire. 

Enbarr was exactly as she’d described: the walled city spread all across the landscape, cruising over rivers and rising on the hills as if carved from the natural world. He could see ancient stone buildings mingling with newer white marble, Imperial banners fluttering from towers and the many steeples rising from the sea of humanity. The old and the new seamlessly weaved together, for the most part, to bring this ancient city to life. 

“Canals go throughout much of the city, allowing for goods to be moved rapidly to market or for people to travel,” Edelgard joined him in looking out the window. “As the oldest city in the Empire, you’ll find that we still have many of the buildings erected from the time of Seiros and Nemesis. Much of the modern-day Enbarr was built around those, expanding into the countryside.” 

“Enbarr’s grown,” Nemesis murmured from within. “I don’t even recognize it.” 

The city had a massive gate leading into or out of the settlement, the towering gatehouse overhead fitted with archer slits and other holes in the floor likely designed for cauldrons or for dropping rocks down on anyone trying to break into the gates. 

Imperial soldiers were patrolling the walls, their armor and weapons glinting brightly in the evening sunlight. The guards standing by the gates were checking every wagon and carriage passing through, but when the royal family’s carriage rolled forward, surrounded by the royal guards, the soldiers on duty stepped aside and saluted to let them pass. 

Edelgard remained seated, her face stony as the carriage entered the city proper. Byleth looked out at the cobblestone streets, already seeing thriving alleys filled with canopied stalls and throngs of people clad in all sorts of colorful garb. There were yellow tunics and robes from lands of the Alliance, heavy fur cloaks from the Kingdom, and apparel that Byleth wasn’t familiar with, all bunched together with the Imperial black and crimson. 

“Are we going to the Palace?” he looked back at Edelgard after he’d drunk in the incredible sights. 

“We are,” she nodded. “I’ve already made arrangements for guest quarters to be prepared for you.” 

“Thank you, El,” Byleth saw conflict within her violet irises, something that was eating away at her that she hadn’t said anything about. “Is everything okay?” 

She gave him a halfhearted, false smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ll be fine, my teacher. It’s... just something I’ll have to do as Emperor.” 

“Let me know if I can help at all,” Byleth offered. 

“I will. Thank you,” she looked out the window, her eyes growing stormy. “We’re here.” 

Byleth followed her gaze, the utter power of the Imperial Palace taking his breath away. Towering external walls lined with towers and cauldrons surrounded a massive central keep that loomed over the rest of the city, gazing down at its subjects while Imperial banners fluttered in the breeze. He could see beautiful gardens in the courtyard, fountains spraying mists of water while servants tended to beds of colorful flowers. 

It radiated power and majesty, just like Edelgard did. 

“It’s impressive,” he commented. 

“On the outside, yes,” Edelgard responded, her voice strained. 

Right... the experiments. 

Byleth pushed himself off of his seat, his stiff legs protesting from hours of sitting, and slid into the other bench next to Edelgard, ignoring her raised eyebrow. “I’m here now. They won’t get you again.” 

She smirked. “I wasn’t planning on letting that happen, but your support is always appreciated, Byleth.” 

“Right,” on an impulse, he leaned over and pressed his lips to her porcelain cheek. 

“Don’t let anyone else see you do that,” she advised when he pulled away. “Or this.” 

Her hand grabbed his shirt and tugged him forward, her mouth once again meeting his. Goddess, this was intoxicating! 

She pulled away after a few moments, a hunger in her eyes as she eyed him in a way that made him think of an eagle about to dive on its prey. Then she cleared her throat and lowered her hand to release him, reaching up to tighten the clasp on her cape before looking away from Byleth. 

“I am going to lose my mind if this continues,” she muttered, giving him a side glance before sighing. “Oh, to hell with it.” 

She turned and slammed her lips onto his again, the force making their teeth knock together and the duo separate. 

“Ow,” she muttered, looking even more embarrassed as she held a hand up to her mouth. “Perhaps I was a little too enthusiastic about that one.” 

Byleth leaned over and amended that, Edelgard sighing against his lips as she leaned against him. 

“Okay, we should probably stop,” he pulled away and glanced out the window, seeing that they were rapidly approaching the Palace. 

“Agreed,” Edelgard shuffled away, clearing her throat and straightening her spine, hands on her lap as her expression returned to stone. 

Byleth moved into the opposite bench, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around the Sword of the Creator to steady his mind. 

“I thought you were never going to stop attaching your face to hers,” Nemesis scoffed. “You’re making a mistake, boy, trust me.” 

“We’ll see about that,” Byleth muttered, earning a strange look from Edelgard. “Nemesis.” 

She nodded, then paused as if something just came to her. “Hubert is not going to be happy that we’ve been... kissing.” 

“No, he is not,” Byleth agreed, shuddering a bit at the thought of the murder that Hubert might have in store for him. 

“We’ll destroy him if he tries anything,” Nemesis declared. 

“Nemesis wants to destroy him if he tries anything,” Byleth mused. 

Edelgard sighed. “Please do not make a scene with Hubert.” 

“That depends on him,” Byleth stilled as the carriage rattled to a halt, the royal guard shouting as their mounts were urged away. 

“Your Highness, we have arrived,” the carriage driver announced, the door on the right clicking as it was swung open. 

“You have my thanks,” Edelgard rose, stiff and straight-backed as she exited the carriage, making it shake with each footfall. 

Byleth followed her, hooking his Relic to his waist as he strode down the steps to hit solid ground. 

A long stairway loomed overhead, rising into the Imperial Palace’s depths. Imperial soldiers with gold-emblazoned armor lined the path forward, lances raised in salute as a trumpet blared. 

“Edelgard von Hresvelg, heir apparent of the Adrestian Empire!” a herald in bright red and black livery announced, then paused as he saw Byleth. “And guest.” 

Byleth resisted the urge to smirk at that, willing his face into stone. 

“Just follow me,” Edelgard murmured, head held high as she strode forward. 

Byleth followed at what he hoped was a respectable distance, absently smoothing the folds of his apparel into something more presentable. The royal guard followed close behind, clanking noisily with each heavily-armored step they took. 

The inside corridors of the palace were lit by torches and magicked orbs of light along with the plentiful windows, portraits and ancient weapons hanging from the walls as a lush red carpet covered the floors. The Hresvelg coat of arms was emblazoned on each decorative shield and etched on the faces of each crossed weapon, Imperial banners aplenty between the portraits of ancient Imperial leaders. All those stern, chiseled faces... and so many of them bore faces similar to Edelgard’s. 

The group ascended a large, wide stairway and the corridors expanded into a massive chamber filled with columns and armored statues, several of them holding lances from which triangular Imperial banners hung. 

“These Imperials really like displaying their flags, huh,” Nemesis muttered. “This is one hell of a palace, to say the least.” 

Byleth silently nodded, still trailing after Edelgard as he examined the breadth of the grand room and the raised level behind the stairs. Behind a rather large knight statue lay an intricate door, which was pushed open by Imperial guards to reveal a lavish room lined with more columns, ending at a raised dais upon which an elegant throne lay. 

And sitting upon the throne... that thin, well-dressed man could only be Edelgard’s father. 

A channel had been cut into the gleaming marble floor around the foot of the dais, water rippling inside of it to create a sort of miniature moat. Byleth glanced down at it as the party ascended to the throne, itself, but found no fish inside of it. 

As they finally reached the throne, Byleth was alarmed to see how gaunt and weathered the Emperor was, dark bags beneath weary eyes and white hair wispy. This was a man who’d suffered terribly, was still suffering terribly. 

“Father, forgive me for asking this of you,” Edelgard began as she stopped before her father, her voice tight with suppressed emotion. “I know how much pain you’re in, how the burden of the throne weighs heavily on you, and so-” 

Emperor Ionius IX gave a weary smile as he lifted a hand to stop his daughter, the gold embroidering on his crimson robes glittering in the light. “There is no need to apologize, Edelgard. You must know... that I do not have much time left in this world. The time has come.” 

Edelgard bowed slowly. “Thank you, Father. Now, to complete the Imperial succession, you must relinquish your crown here in the throne room. The archbishop of the Church of Seiros would normally act as witness, but my professor will fill that role instead.” 

Those pain-addled eyes shifted to Byleth, the Emperor’s thin lips curving into a ghost of a smile. “Ah, you must be the Byleth that my daughter so often writes home about. She speaks often of your kindness and your ability as a teacher and leader. She doesn’t praise others as much as she does you, so you must be quite extraordinary.” 

Byleth bowed. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” 

Ionius nodded. “No, thank you, Byleth Eisner, for supporting my daughter and for walking at her side. Knowing someone like you was with her has taken a great burden from my old heart.” 

“It was my honor to stand with her,” Byleth maintained his bow, ignoring how it made his spine ache. 

“That sword you carry... The Sword of the Creator, is it not? The Relic of the ancient King of Liberation,” the Emperor mused. “Such power is said to lie within that weapon. You can stop bowing: I imagine your back must be screaming in agony.” 

Byleth rose, surprised to see the Emperor smiling at him. “It was, if I’m being honest.” 

The royal guards tensed, grips tightening on their weapons. 

“You’re a good man, Byleth Eisner,” Ionius chuckled, and the guards relaxed. “I can see Edelgard chose well. Now, my daughter...” 

Edelgard cleared her throat and stepped forward. “From this day forward, the weight of the Empire’s future shall rest upon my shoulders. All that I do will be for the benefit of the people of Fodlan.” 

Ionius waved a hand, and an attendant clad in black and gold came forward, a scarlet pillow in his hands with a golden, horned crown resting on top. Ionius pushed his thin, emaciated body to stand, thin fingers taking the golden crown as Edelgard fell to her knees before him. 

“Edelgard von Hresvelg. By the covenant between the red blood and the white sword, and by the double-headed eagle upon your head, I hereby pronounce you the new emperor,” Ionius’s voice was strong, filling the entire hall despite how frail his body was. “Are you prepared to take those responsibilities as your own?” 

“In accordance with the ancient covenant, and in keeping with the Hresvelg legacy, I swear upon this throne: I shall use my reign to lead Fodlan to a new dawn and achieve peace for all,” Edelgard’s words rang out clear and powerful, and Byleth’s chest swelled with pride. 

His little Edelgard, now an Emperor. 

“Kill me,” Nemesis muttered. “Again.” 

He was witnessing history. 

“Please. Just stab me with that Relic, boy.” 

Oh, shut up, Nemesis. 

Ionius set the crown upon Edelgard’s head, and the soldiers present sank to their knees. Byleth hurriedly did the same, staring down at the gleaming marble floor and not daring to look up lest he break some ancient tradition. 

After several moments, he heard footsteps hurry off and the creaking of the throne as Ionius seated himself back upon it. Byleth saw the guards rise from the corner of his eyes and did the same, armor clanking all around him. 

Edelgard had removed the crown, and the aide with the pillow was gone, perhaps taking it back to its resting place. 

“The Imperial succession is complete. My daughter, I regret that I could not do more for you,” the former Emperor sighed. “When you were stolen away to the Kingdom... When the prime minister did those horrible things... I could only watch in horror.” 

He knew? 

“I...I understand, Father. In those dark times, your eyes and your fists were my salvation,” Edelgard said softly. “Within your eyes, I saw true care. And upon your fists clenched tight with indignity, I saw the blood that dripped and fell. Even as I bled, I felt that you, too, must also be bleeding.” 

More footsteps approached, a rather portly man with balding orange hair the same color as Ferdinand’s approaching, dressed in a red suit. 

“Your Majesty! You must not leave your sleeping quarters in your condition...” he paused when he saw Edelgard, a scowl forming in his rounded face. “Oh, Edelgard. I did not expect to find Your Highness here.” 

Edelgard’s eyes hardened. “Prime Minister, you have misspoken. I am no longer Your Highness but rather... Your Majesty.” 

Prime Minister? Ferdinand’s father? The one responsible for torturing Edelgard? Hot rage poured into Byleth’s chest, the Sword of the Creator warming on his waist. 

The man jolted, face slackening with horror. “I-impossible!” 

“It’s true,” Ionius spoke up, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “Edelgard is the new emperor of the Adrestian Empire. We will summon the officials and prepare an ordinance at once. And you, Prime Minister-” 

“Are dismissed. It will be some time before you are allowed to make contact with the outside world again,” Edelgard cut in, her voice ruthless and cutting as deep as any blade. 

“No! How can this be?!” Duke Aegir stammered, but a look at the royal guard made him hesitate. “Understood, Your Majesty.” 

“Edelgard... My dear El. I leave the fate of Fodlan in your capable hands,” Ionius spoke up as the duke stared dumbly at the floor. 

“Father...” she gave him a bow, her white hair falling around her face. 

“You plan on staying the night, do you not?” the former emperor asked. “Quarters have already been prepared for your Byleth.” 

“My Byleth?” Edelgard repeated, standing up straight as she raised an eyebrow at her grinning father. 

“I can attest to that,” one of the royal guards spoke up, earning a death glare from Edelgard. 

“Is that so?” Duke Aegir looked up slowly, his beady eyes honed in on Byleth before falling to the Sword of the Creator. “Who let him bring that in here?! Take that away from him!” 

“KILL HIM!” Nemesis’s words were, for once, something Byleth had no problem with acting on, his Relic spewing power as he drew it and lunged at the Prime Minister. 

“Stop, Byleth!” Edelgard’s sharp command made him freeze, the edge of the Sword of the Creator resting just centimeters away from cutting open Duke Aegir’s plump throat. 

The man’s eyes were wide with horror, his body going rigid so as to not cut his own flesh on the blade threatening his vitals. 

“Your Majesty?” Byleth asked, his gaze never leaving his prey. 

“Please, it’s just Edelgard: how many times must I say that, my teacher?” Edelgard’s white hair entered his peripheral vision, her gloved hand reaching out and coming to rest on the sword. “Lower your sword for me, Byleth.” 

“He’s the one responsible for putting you and your family through all of that pain,” Byleth kept his voice steady, his face the stony mask of the Ashen Demon. “He caused you so much suffering.” 

“I know, but he’s also Ferdinand’s father,” Edelgard said gently. “Please, lower your sword.” 

The royal guards were probably going to skewer him if he didn’t, so he took a step back and removed his sword from the sweating nobleman’s throat, keeping his blank expression fixed on the bastard. 

“D-did you say Byleth? As in Byleth Eisner, the Ashen Demon?” the duke stammered. “The monster who kills legions while showing no fear or emotion?” 

“Correct, and if Her Majesty hadn’t intervened, you would have been another kill to my name,” Byleth warned, hooking his sword back to his belt. 

“Take the duke to his chambers and leave a round-the-clock guard shifts,” Edelgard barked at the soldiers. “He is not to communicate with anyone, is that clear? And sweep the room to make sure he doesn’t have anything hidden away.” 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” four of the royal guards surrounded the Prime Minister, who shrank between them as he was shoved forward by a broad shield. 

“Fat bastard,” one of the soldiers muttered once the duke and his escort vanished down a side corridor. “You would have done us a favor by slicing him open, Ashen Demon. We probably would have helped you, actually.” 

Byleth nodded to them. “Appreciated.” 

“Captain Camus, I trust you can show Byleth to the guest chambers?” Ionius spoke up, his voice strained and his eyes tight with pain. 

“Of course, it would be my honor,” one of the tallest knights, presumably the captain, bowed. “If Your Majesty wills it, I will take your guest to his quarters.” 

Edelgard nodded. “I will be by shortly to speak with him. Thank you, Captain.” 

“Follow me, Ashen Demon,” the captain intoned, bowing to Edelgard before clanking down the stairs. 

Byleth mirrored the gesture, his gaze lingering on Edelgard as she offered him a brief, grateful smile before turning to her father. Then he turned and hurried after Camus, who was striding towards the right, where another chamber branched off from the throne room. 

“You’re not the only one who wanted to skewer that slimy little worm. Frankly, we had a bet going on who was going to lose their patience with him and hone their axe on him,” Camus spoke, amusement in his voice as the duo started down some spiral stairs into the lower levels. “I was hoping you’d kill him for us.” 

“I was sorely tempted to,” Byleth admitted, examining the Imperial memorabilia on the walls. 

“We’re not going to kill you,” Camus added after a few minutes of silence. “Back on the carriage? We were actually hoping you and Her Majesty would... you know.” 

“Hoping?” Byleth raised an eyebrow, found himself looking at the Great Knight’s helmet. 

“Her Majesty has always been distant, always been determined to walk her path alone, but now she has you with her,” the captain explained. “She might not want to admit it, but everything will be better with someone to walk by you, if you know what I mean. Hubert’s loyal, but he’s not exactly what Her Majesty needs.” 

“What do you mean?” Byleth asked, his guard lowering as the captain shook his head, armor rattling with each step. 

“Hubert is devoted to Her Majesty, but she needs someone who means more to her than just a servant. Someone who knows her heart and knows how to soothe it when she’s suffering, to help her retain her humanity when the entire world is out to get her,” Camus stopped before a simple oaken door with a black two-headed eagle carved onto it. “Someone like you, who can get her to not just be Emperor, but Edelgard as well. Your belongings have already been brought in here, and we’ll keep a guard posted outside, not that I think you really need one, but it’s Her Majesty’s orders.” 

“Thank you, Captain,” Byleth nodded to the man as he turned around. 

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. But, may I make a suggestion? Don’t spend the night with Her Majesty: or else we would have to kill you to prevent a scandal from erupting,” Camus bowed. “And I do not think any of us would survive the attempt, if the way you trounced us during that training exercise a few months back is saying anything.” 

“That was you guys?” Byleth asked in surprise: he remembered a training exercise months ago with a contingent of Imperial royal guards, but he didn’t think it was this particular group his students had gone up against. 

“It was. You absolutely destroyed us,” Camus sighed, shaking his head. “And here I thought we were the best of the best, only to be swatted aside by the Ashen Demon as if we were day one novices. And you weren’t even using that Relic.” 

Byleth held his hand out to the captain, who stared at him through the visor of his helmet. “I remember you guys gave me a tougher challenge than anyone else I’d fought. Enbarr’s ruler is well protected with you all here.” 

“Unless you’re the one busting down the doors, then we’re all doomed,” Camus chuckled, grabbing Byleth’s offered hand with a tight, metal-covered grip of his own. “Be good to Her Majesty, understood?” 

“I’ll try to be worthy of her,” Byleth answered. 

“Good man,” Camus let go and clanked away, leaving Byleth to enter the room reserved for him. 

The suite was large, with an entry room filled with plush cushioned chairs and a small round table not unlike the one at the monastery. Only thing the monastery didn’t have was the couch sitting off to the side. Another door led somewhere else into the suite, possibly a bedroom, and Byleth saw arched windows offering a marvelous view of the city alongside a fireplace. 

It was a room clearly meant for important guests. He walked over to the table and leaned the Sword of the Creator against it, thankful Nemesis had, for the moment, shut up. 

Byleth exhaled slowly and eased himself into one of the chairs, the cushion almost sucking him up as it absorbed his weight. He didn’t know how long he’d sat there, his thoughts wandering from the day’s events to how he could potentially kill Duke Aegir without Ferdinand finding out it was him who did it... maybe he should switch targets to Bernadetta’s father, instead. He was a lesser noble, after all, and deserved to die. 

A knock on the door roused him. “Byleth? It’s me.” 

“Open the door for Her Majesty!” another voice, a male’s distorted by metal, barked. 

“Please go away, now,” Edelgard’s stern voice commanded, followed by a stammered apology and clanking metal footsteps. 

Byleth pushed himself to stand and walked to the door, grabbing the ornate metal handle and pulling it open. Edelgard was standing on the other side, flanked by two royal guards who were now standing to attention with their backs to the wall. 

“Your Majesty,” Byleth bowed just to be on the safe side, stepping aside to allow Edelgard entrance. 

She rolled her eyes as she strode in, motioning for him to shut the door before seating herself on the couch, sighing as she did so. Byleth closed the door and walked over to the Emperor, easing himself into a chair at her side. 

“Well, how does it feel, Emperor Edelgard?” he asked after a moment of silence. 

“As crushing as I’d expected,” she admitted, a bitter smile forming on her lips. “I suppose that means the end of my dreams of lazing about any further, eating candies with someone dear to me.” 

“We might not be able to eat candies, but you can still spend time with someone dear to you,” Byleth reminded her, marveling at how well she seemed to be taking this new responsibility. 

“You are correct,” she said with a coy smile, her expression hardening. “I hope I can continue to rely on your support.” 

“Of course, El. Why wouldn’t you be? What is it that’s bothering you so much?” he asked, frowning at the conflict in her eyes. 

“It’s just... something I’m going to have to do,” she shook her head, patting the empty couch cushion next to her. “Please, sit with me.” 

Byleth rose and did as she asked, easing himself onto the couch next to her. “Are you worried?” 

“I am, but with you at my side, I feel as if I can overcome any challenge,” Edelgard nodded, her steel mask fading from her face, replaced with a weary girl already burdened with things no one her age should be. “So, what do you think of Enbarr, now that I managed to bring you here with me?” 

“It’s an incredible place,” Byleth answered, not sure if he should say the words that came to mind next. 

It sounded too much like the meaningless flirting Sylvain spouted out to every girl he could. 

“Indeed it is,” Edelgard leaned against him, staring out the arched windows at the setting sun. “Thank you, Byleth, for everything.” 

“You’re not going to merge your spirit with me like Sothis, are you?” he asked, frowning at the familiar words. 

“Of course not,” Edelgard scoffed. “You know me better than that.” 

This warmth was wonderful, to say the least. 

“I wish we could just stay like this forever,” the Emperor sighed, her voice heavy with longing. 

“I wish,” Byleth agreed. 

Edelgard shifted, and he felt her lips on his cheek again. “At least I can enjoy some of these moments with you, can I not? In between everything I have to do.” 

“As many as we can get,” he nodded, turning his head to plant a kiss on the top of her head. 

It was just the two of them here, at this moment. 

Just an Emperor and her mercenary. 

“I hate both of you,” a disgruntled ancient king growled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie: I was torn at how I could depict the Edeleth interactions here without making it feel too forced or mushy. I wanted it to be fluffy but not ridiculously so. And Bernie's dad deserves to die a horrible, painful death. Captain is named Camus because I really couldn't think of anything else.


	13. Battle at the Holy Tomb

Edelgard was distracted. Ever since they’d returned from Enbarr, her performance in the training grounds and in the classroom left much to be desired. 

Byleth had been helping Bernadetta with her lance form when he’d heard the telltale thwack of wood on flesh, followed by a pained grunt from Edelgard. 

“At last, I have proven my superiority over Edelgard!” Ferdinand had crowed, his next words degraded into a scream as he skidded across the floor, Edelgard shooting him a death glare. 

And now, a mere day from the ritual at the Holy Tomb, Edelgard seemed even more distant and distracted. 

“Edelgard?” Byleth called her name for the fourth time, finally getting her attention. 

“Forgive me. What is it, Professor?” she asked, straightening her spine and fixing her eyes on him. 

“I was asking what-” 

The bell chose that moment to go off, filling the monastery with its brassy tones. 

“Nevermind. Everyone: dismissed, and good work today. Get some rest,” Byleth concluded the lecture, his eyes going to Edelgard as she rose along with her classmates, gathering her materials. “Edelgard, could you stay for a few minutes? I’d like to talk to you.” 

Dorothea shot Edelgard a sly smile before walking away as the rest of the class filed out, sans Hubert, who was in Enbarr for reasons Edelgard wouldn’t reveal. 

Edelgard was watching as he approached, her expression guarded. 

“What’s going on?” he asked her, keeping his face stony as he stood before her desk. “You’ve been distant, distracted. What’s eating at you?” 

The Emperor sighed, wood grating against stone as she sat heavily back down. “I’ve been receiving nonstop intelligence and messages from Enbarr, demanding my attention here at the Monastery, and I’ve already set up a committee to handle the most important tasks in my absence. It’s... exhausting, and I’ve only just begun. If I’m being honest, the best thing about that trip was coming back.” 

Her eyes gleamed with mischief, a coy smile tugging her lips. 

Byleth nodded in silent agreement: the duo had spent much of the return trip in each other’s arms, kissing until their lips had swelled and Edelgard had demanded they stop before the guards-whom she’d severely reprimanded for their visor spells-had any funny ideas. The princess-_ Emperor- _had also fallen asleep on Byleth’s side, lulled into her dreams by the passage of time and the hand that he’d been stroking her hair with. 

She’d looked so peaceful, so... beautiful, all the pain and worries free from her serene face. She’d lowered her guard so utterly, her trust in Byleth so complete that she’d left herself open and vulnerable as she slept. 

He’d lost some feeling in his arm from her body leaning against it, but it had been worth it to see that face. 

“Anything I can help you with?” he asked, spying the head of a certain songstress disappearing as she darted into cover outside the doors. “Dorothea, I can see you.” 

“No, you can’t,” her singsong voice sailed into the classroom, followed by a muttered “Drat”. 

“Why does that always work?” Edelgard muttered, shaking her head. 

Dorothea had become determined to catch the duo partaking in any intimate interactions, spying on them relentlessly every chance she had. Byleth had found that calling her out made her answer every time, for some reason, or saying some random sentence with her name in it. 

“Come on, I just want to see the two of you being adorable!” Dorothea complained. “I know you’re together now: the air around you reeks of romance!” 

“Edelgard is my student, Dorothea, that relationship would hardly be appropriate,” Byleth sighed, even though he’d refuted Edelgard when she’d brought that same point up in Enbarr. 

“You’re a mercenary, Professor,” Dorothea drawled. “Or is it Professor Mercenary? Either way: Edie is head over heels for you and you are the same for her, and I will get proof even if it kills me.” 

“Really?” Byleth asked, intrigued by her dedication. 

Dorothea faltered. “Okay, maybe not death, but I will see you two kiss!” 

“Not happening,” Edelgard growled, despite the smirk she gave Byleth. 

“Dorothea, I am trying to talk to Edelgard about her recent academic problems,” Byleth sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I would appreciate it if you weren’t listening in. Unless you want me to tell her the story about that knight you dated that tried to-” 

“Okay, okay, I can take a hint!” Dorothea spluttered. “See you two at dinner!” 

Her hurried footsteps seemed genuine this time, rather than her running in place, gradually making the noise softer to trick them into thinking she’d left. 

“She’s gone,” Edelgard nodded, cocking her head to listen. “Now, about my... academic problems. I apologize if my concentration has been lacking, but there’s just so much demanding my attention lately.” 

Byleth glanced out the door to make sure nobody was watching: the students would likely be swarming the dining hall for dinner at this hour, then placed a hand on Edelgard’s. “Can I help with anything?” 

Her warm fingers curled around his own, a small smiling curving her lips even as her eyes flashed with something he couldn’t recognize. She was still hiding something from him, something important. 

“Not yet, my teacher, but I hope I will be able to reach out to you soon, when the time is right,” she said, making what small hope he’d been raising deflate. 

“What can’t you tell me?” he asked softly. “Or, rather, what aren’t you telling me?” 

Edelgard swallowed, not quite meeting his eyes. “Tomorrow, okay? I’ll tell you tomorrow.” 

“At the Holy Tomb ritual?” Byleth frowned. “El, what’s wrong?” 

She shook her head, her eyes actually pleading with him as she finally met his gaze. “Please, trust in me. I promise I will make everything clear as well as make it up to you for being so secretive.” 

What could she possibly be hiding? Something else only Emperors knew regarding Rhea/Seiros/The Immaculate One and the Church? The curiosity was maddening, but... he trusted Edelgard. She had to be hiding this for a reason. 

“I trust you, El,” Byleth nodded slowly, the Emperor’s eyes lighting up with relief at the words. 

“And I trust you, my teacher, more than anyone,” she pushed herself up to her feet, standing on her tiptoes to plant a quick, chaste kiss on his lips. “I’ll see you in the dining hall?” 

“In a while,” he nodded at his desk and the papers cluttering it. “I need to finish this up.” 

“Don’t keep me waiting too long,” she pulled away and left the classroom, looking back over her shoulder at him before striding out of sight towards the dining hall. 

Byleth strode over to his desk, organizing this week’s assignments on how to best prepare a siege in which only severely limited resources were available to the assailants, and cleaning up his writing materials. He carried those notes, papers, and books back to his room, setting them on the writing desk near his journal and shutting his door behind him. 

Byleth then sat down, cracked his knuckles, rubbed the weariness from his eyes, took his inkwell and pen and started to grade. He didn’t know how much time had passed until the bell tolled again, making his head jerk up in alarm at the tones. 

“Bedtime, damn it... the kitchen’s going to be closed,” hardly the first time he’d worked through lunch or dinner, but he’d promised El... 

A knock at the door made him jolt again, the delicious smell of roasted lamb and steamed vegetables wafting through making his mouth water. 

“Rafael, for the last time: this food is for Professor Byleth,” Edelgard’s muffled voice came from the other side. “He worked himself through dinner and hasn’t eaten yet, again.” 

“Oh, yeah, he needs to keep his strength up!” Raphael’s voice followed. “Hey, Professor! We brought you some food!” 

Edelgard’s sigh was almost lost to the night. 

Byleth stood, his legs protesting at the sudden movement as he strode over to the door and opened it, greeted by the two students and the plate of food. 

“You didn’t eat, and tomorrow’s the ritual,” Edelgard gave him an accusing look, concern hidden in the very edges of her gaze. “Eat, my teacher. Please.” 

Byleth nodded, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Right, thank you.” 

“Yeah, you gotta eat if you wanna grow!” Raphael offered helpfully, giving a solemn nod at the words. “You got a bunch of new power now, right? Maybe it’ll help you get bigger than me!” 

Edelgard raised an eyebrow at that, but the tiniest of smiles was forming on her lips. 

“We’ll have to see about that, Raphael,” Byleth mused, taking the ceramic plate as well as the fork and knife also on it. “Thank you both, again.” 

“Sure thing, Professor!” Raphael hurried off, leaving Edelgard to sigh through her nose and shake her head. 

“He’s an earnest one, but he has a good heart,” she decided. “Almost like a larger, hungrier version of Caspar.” 

The image made Byleth chuckle as he sat back down at the desk and began forking roasted lamb into his mouth, savoring the way the seasoned meat melted in his mouth. The smell and taste were divine! 

“You worried me when you didn’t come,” Edelgard slipped into the room, shutting the door behind her, and Byleth made a point of turning the assignment papers upside down so she couldn’t glimpse them. “Honestly, do I need to have someone feed you, now?” 

“Are you offering?” Byleth asked after swallowing a mouthful of lamb. 

Edelgard turned red, her words failing her as her mouth opened and closed in a perfect imitation of a fish. 

Byleth turned his attention to the greens and peas, slathered in butter and seasoned with black peppers and started inhaling them, satiating his rumbling stomach. 

“Slow down!” Edelgard hissed. “You’re going to make yourself sick!” 

She snatched the utensils from his hands, her gaze hard as she glared at him. 

“Byleth,” she said slowly. “Please don’t overdo it. Tomorrow is an important day, is it not? We need you at your best.” 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he answered in a low voice, almost a whisper, making Edelgard’s scowl deepen. 

“You’re lucky I am fond of you,” she declared, leaning down and pressing her lips to his before setting the silverware on the desk. 

She lingered for a moment, the warmth and softness of her mouth a marvel to Byleth yet again before she pulled away. 

“Sorry, El,” Byleth murmured. “You’re just cute when the title embarrasses you, I couldn’t help it.” 

“Yes, you can. You just didn’t want to,” Edelgard chided, but there remained a tiny smile on her lips as she leaned down and kissed him again. “Good night, my teacher. Sleep well.” 

“You too, El,” Byleth watched her open the door and stride out before closing it behind her. 

He then set himself to devouring the food in a slightly more controlled manner. 

The time had come: Edelgard’s pulse pounded in her head and her heart lay leaden and heavy within her chest as the entire Black Eagle House followed their professor to the location given by Seteth earlier in the morning. Her mouth was dry, tasting of blood as she absently chewed the inside of her cheeks in a vain attempt to calm her raging nerves. Breakfast sat in her stomach like a metal weight, its flavor long forgotten. 

They passed through a gate on the side of the western expanse of the cathedral, the one that was always shut, no matter what, and Byleth led the group over to what appeared to be another wide tower in the walls of Garreg Mach. The door at the base of the tower opened wide, stone grating on stone as a wide platform was revealed on the tower’s floor. Rhea was already waiting for them, giving the professor a near-predatory look over as she smiled her false smile and greeted the class. 

Edelgard glanced back, immediately spotting Metodey’s short cropped brown hair as he and a few other Imperials in disguise trailed them. The Knight of Seiros guarding the gate tried to stop them, but Metodey slid a knife into the gap between breastplate and helmet and hurriedly dumped the carcass over the wall before anyone could see. 

The class settled onto the platform, nobody armed or even wearing any armor aside from Byleth, who had his mercenary garb and the Sword of the Creator as always. 

“Brace yourselves,” Rhea warned, and strange rumbling filled the tower. 

The floor lurched, making everyone stumble, and then began to descend into the ground in a flurry of creaking metal and rattling chains. Lights of a make Edelgard had never seen before flickered by at odd intervals in the endless, mine-like shaft, bathing the class in pale yellow as the rumbling platform continued its descent. 

She took the respite to collect her thoughts, to make peace with what she was about to do, with the lies she had told her classmates and the lies she’d told her dear Byleth. How was he going to look at her after this? 

Their descent appeared to go on for an eternity before the dark shaft abruptly opened up into a clearly ancient cavernous chamber filled with stone sarcophagi. At the far end of the room, leading up a wide staircase, was Sothis’s throne, the entire room tinted green in the strange glowing sconces that lined broken columns and ancient tombs. 

“Welcome to the Holy Tomb,” Rhea announced, her voice swallowed up by the sheer size of the room as awed whispers escaped the throats of the class. “It is here where the goddess who watches over this world was laid to rest, along with her children.” 

“To think that there was such a vast space beneath the monastery all this time...” Edelgard marveled at the sheer size of the chamber, which could easily have fit the entire Imperial throne room in it, plus more. “It’s hard to imagine that any of these contraptions are of this world.” 

But they were: she knew of the Agarthan technology, of its power. 

The platform touched down with a rumble, and Rhea led them down a short flight of stairs into the chamber itself, where the only way to enter was one of two paths leading left and right. The rest of it was blocked off by stone railings, which separated the raised level by the platform from the Holy Tomb. 

There was a large sarcophagus in the center of the room, resting on a raised dais, but Rhea ignored it to lead the group directly up to the throne that Edelgard had seen Sothis sitting in back at the Sealed Forest, during her time in the void with Byleth. 

“It is said that the Goddess Sothis sat in this very throne,” Rhea announced, the smile she was giving Byleth filling Edelgard with the desire to shove her face into a nearby wall. 

Repeatedly. 

“Do you recognize this throne, Professor?” 

“I do,” Byleth nodded. 

“So long... I have waited so very long for this day,” Rhea breathed, the desperate hope in her eyes again making Edelgard want to slam that too-perfect face against the nearby stone. “Sit on the throne. I have no doubt you will be gifted a revelation from the goddess.” 

Revelation, my ass, Edelgard thought bitterly, discretely slipping behind the group of awed students as they stared at what was going on with the throne. She moved down the staircase as quickly and silently as she could, heading towards the crowd of Imperial soldiers emerging from the platform shaft. 

Metodey was at their head, his Imperial Assassin armor not making a sound as he strode towards Edelgard and saluted. “We’re all here, Your Majesty. There was another of those platforms waiting for us up top, which we took down.” 

She had about thirty soldiers with her, two of whom were to transform into Demonic Beasts, and herself. If this couldn’t stop Rhea, she didn’t know what could. Edelgard von Hresvelg steeled herself, pictured her beloved’s smile to chase away her doubts, then led her army back towards the throne. 

“It was supposed to be a step away,” Rhea lamented. “What could have gone wrong? Professor, are you absolutely certain you don’t hear anything from Sothis? Anything at all?” 

Edelgard filled her lungs from the bottom of the stairway. “Stop right there!” 

“Don’t move, any of you! If you move, your lives will be forfeit!” Metodey bellowed at her side, earning an exasperated look from the Emperor. “Thank you ever so much for guiding us here! The Imperial Army will now take possession of everything in the Holy Tomb!” 

“What in the Goddess’s name is going on here?!” Rhea demanded, her hard eyes immediately honing in on Edelgard as the archbishop and Byleth approached the top of the stairwell. “Edelgard, explain yourself!” 

Her classmates stared at her in shock, their eyes roaming over the soldiers as the two selected to become Demonic Beasts exploded in a flurry of darkness, their new forms shaking the Holy Tomb with their roars. 

“I am the Flame Emperor,” she announced, barely managing to keep her voice from faltering as Byleth jolted in horror at her words, her classmates chattering nervously among themselves. 

“I guess that’s the end of play-at-school, Lady Edelgard,” Hubert appeared at her side, his face grim and determined. “I mean... Your Majesty.” 

“Edelgard?” Byleth’s choked voice nearly made her heart burst, the hurt within his wide eyes wounding her deeper than any blade ever could. 

“Get to work, everyone!” Metodey shouted at the gathered soldiers and mages. “The Crest Stones belong to us now, and take those filthy bones, too!” 

“Insolence!” Rhea shrieked, the rage in her voice making the chamber rumble. “You will atone for the sin of trampling on this holy resting place!” 

Shut up, you lying monster! 

Then came the words Edelgard was dreading: “Professor! Destroy these villainous traitors who dare dishonor our creator!” 

“I’m sorry, my dear Byleth,” Edelgard swallowed the lump in her throat, swallowed the taste of blood and ash. “I cut this path, and now I must follow it. My friends, I ask that all of you stay back! It is not my intention to fight you.” 

Of course, they wouldn’t fight: they weren’t even armed, aside from those useless decorative swords. And they knew what Rhea was, they wouldn’t fight for her. 

“My classmates, please come down and allow my soldiers to escort you away from the fighting,” Edelgard called up. “Your help has been invaluable thus far, and I have no desire to harm any of you.” 

Rhea wheeled on the silent class, her eyes burning with rage. “All of you?! Professor, kill them now! Every last one of these traitorous creatures! NOW!” 

“I had nothing to do with this! Rhea, I swear it!” Flayn protested, but the archbishop wasn’t even looking at her. “Rhea?” 

For a terrifying second, Edelgard feared she would watch Byleth unleash his sword on the class he’d spent a half year teaching, but he looked at Rhea with a hard glare and shook his head. 

“I am not going to murder unarmed students,” he said evenly. “Let alone _ my _ students.” 

“Professor, unless you want to be branded a traitor to the Church, to Fodlan, you will. Kill. Them. All,” Rhea seethed through clenched teeth. 

“P-Professor?!” Bernadetta squeaked, her eyes wide as her entire body trembled. 

Byleth jerked his chin towards the stairs, motioning for his students to run, and they obeyed, save for Flayn, sprinting down the stairs as quickly as they could. Edelgard exhaled slowly: this was already going far better than she’d anticipated. 

Rhea was panting with rage, her eyes dilating into draconic slits as she clenched trembling fists. “You... they took your father from us. From you. Edelgard was working with Monica and Solon the entire time. She was the Flame Emperor: she ordered his death. Why defend her?” 

“W-what? Professor, I...” Flayn covered her mouth with her hands, horror in eyes almost a mirror of Byleth’s. 

Edelgard’s blood turned to ice, dimly aware of the crashing of stone lids as her troops began ransacking the coffins. 

Oh, no, she hadn’t been anticipating _ that _. 

Byleth had frozen, his head slowly swiveling towards Edelgard as those luminous green eyes bored into her, so deep with betrayal and shock and pain that she knew he might never forgive her, might never love her again. 

“E-El?” his voice was a croak that she could barely hear. “Did you really have my father killed? Have you just been lying to me all this time?” 

“El?” Dorothea whispered. “I knew it!” 

“Not the time, Dorothea,” Linhardt muttered. “We’re in deep trouble here if the Professor sides with the Immaculate One.” 

“I don’t want to die!” Bernadetta sobbed. “I don’t want Professor Byleth to kill me! I want to go back to my room!” 

“I thought you said you were going to get him to join us, Edelgard?” Caspar all but shouted, earning a haughty, almost hysterical laugh from Rhea. 

“You see, Professor?! They wanted to use you from the very beginning! To use you as their weapon!” she cried, pointing a jagged finger at Edelgard. “Kill them! Now!” 

Byleth shot the archbishop a nasty, yellow-tinted, side eye that she didn’t catch, her manic eyes focused utterly on Edelgard and boring holes into her very soul, but he slowly started walking down the stairway, each footstep a death knell. 

“Flayn, stay here with Rhea.” 

“Professor?” 

“Stay. Here.” 

Edelgard’s heart shattered in her chest: was he really going to kill them? 

“Fall back, Your Majesty,” Hubert advised, teleporting them both to the upper level in front of the strange platform shaft. 

“Hubert!” she hissed, but he said nothing as he teleported back to their classmates, grabbing Ferdinand’s arm and zipping back in another burst of light. 

“Edelgard, what is the meaning of this?!” the noble demanded, intermittent flashes of light announcing Hubert’s teleporting back and forth for the rest of the class. “Why are they calling you ‘Your Majesty’?! This wasn’t the plan!” 

“Plans change, Ferdinand,” Edelgard snapped. “And I am Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg, now.” 

Hubert presented her with the Flame Emperor armor, which she reluctantly donned as Byleth finally reached the bottom of the throne’s stairway. 

“I’m told it’s fine to kill those who resist,” Metodey cackled, the bloodlust he was known and hated for in his voice as he lifted a curved blade dripping with poison. “How shall I cook you?” 

Byleth’s response was to draw the Sword of the Creator, the Relic hissing and spitting red light and sparks as it came to life in his hand. Those tortured, pain-wracked eyes never left Edelgard, slowly picking her soul apart one blink at a time. 

“Your Majesty?” Hubert asked. 

She was shaking, bile threatening to come up her throat as she locked gazes with her beloved Byleth, the man who now believed that she was responsible for the death of the only family he’d had. For Remire Village. For all of his suffering. 

“Die!” Metodey howled, lunging towards Byleth with blinding speed. 

Byleth didn’t even hesitate: one lightning fast crackling line of red energy was all it took to saw Metodey’s torso in half, the assassin’s upper and lower body skipping across the floor in a spray of blood and internal organs. 

“We’re all going to die!” Bernadetta shrieked, falling to her knees while hysterical sobs wracked her body. 

“It’s okay, Bernie! Professor Byleth won’t kill us! I know he won’t!” Dorothea immediately knelt to hold the girl, but even she sounded uncertain, hesitant. 

“Edelgard!” Caspar stormed up to her with his fists clenched, ignoring Hubert’s warning growl. “Is it true?! Were you working with Monica, Solon and that Death Knight?! All those monsters?!” 

“I command only the Death Knight,” Edelgard said evenly, accepting her black shield and a heavy axe crafted from shining silver from one of Hubert’s aides. “The others... I was all too glad to exterminate them for what they’d done. I meant it when I told Byleth that I had nothing to do with Remire Village or the experiments. In fact, I was the one who told the knights the rumor of their location in the Sealed Forest, later.” 

Edelgard looked back at the Holy Tomb, ice again trickling through her veins at the sight of so many of her soldiers already lying sprawled on the green bricks. Byleth whipped his crackling scarlet weapon with a ferocity she’d never seen before, shredding anyone he touched. The two Demonic Beasts were swatted aside with unnerving ease, their heads shattering from the force of the Sword of the Creator’s strikes. 

The weapon snapped back into a singular entity, which Byleth used to slash through a fireball that had been launched in his direction. 

“The Crest Stones!” Rhea shouted from the throne, where Flayn was lobbing white magic at a pair of Imperial mages attempting to climb the stairs. “Professor! Protect the Crest Stones!” 

Imperial soldiers had managed to ransack much of the sarcophagi filling the Tomb, their arms laden with the stones as they scrambled back towards the two stairways leading up the second level, to the platform. 

A few of the looters had already been killed, having attacked Byleth after passing their stones to someone else, only to be cut down with ease. 

“Die, Church filth!” an Imperial Warrior in a rough northern-style cloak, armor and horned helmet charged Byleth, bellowing a ruthless war cry as his massive axe churned the air around him. 

Byleth ducked backwards with unnatural grace, easily avoiding the Warrior’s brutal swing. He then lashed out with his left hand, driving a fist into his opponent’s throat before he could make a follow up. The Warrior choked and spluttered, the axe falling from his hand as he clutched at his neck, gasping for breath. 

Edelgard didn’t look away as Byleth severed the man’s head from his shoulders, letting the rest of his body thump against the floor. 

A demigod: they were facing a demigod with the power of the Goddess and a legendary Relic that could stand against armies and slice through mountains. Did they even have a chance to begin with? 

“Edie?” Dorothea’s desperate voice reached her ears. “What are you going to do? This isn’t what you said we were going to be doing!” 

The Sword of the Creator whipped through a grouping of mages trying to combine their spells, men and women screaming as the Relic shredded their bodies and those of the closest fleeing looters on the eastern side of the room. 

Archers clad in scarlet jerkins on the western side of the room lined up, pulled back on their bows, took aim, and fired, their bows releasing with a chorus of deep thrums. Space itself seemed to ripple around Byleth, afterimages of him being struck by arrows fading away as his real body twisted to avoid the missiles. 

He could still control time to an extent, it would seem, even without Sothis present. The other Black Eagles didn’t seem to notice the afterimages, however: none of them commented on it even though most were watching the fight unfold. 

The archers readied another volley, only to scatter as the screaming Sword of the Creator snapped out towards them. Byleth exploded into action, sprinting forward with blinding speed even Metodey couldn’t match. He fell upon the archers with a vengeance, painting the stairs in their blood as his Relic ripped through their bodies left and right. 

The remaining looters threw down their prizes and got to their knees, voices begging for mercy as the Ashen Demon blocked off their only escape route. The only answer they got was a line of pulsing, crackling scarlet cutting them down. 

That was it: all of the soldiers Edelgard had spent painstakingly placing in the monastery month after month were dead, along with the Empire’s most lauded assassin. She and Hubert and the other Black Eagles were all that were left. 

Even the mages Flayn had been dueling lay dead on the base of the throne’s staircase, necks twisted in unnatural angles. 

Edelgard’s heart was pounding in her chest, nausea and fear gripping her mind as a blood-caked Byleth slowly advanced up the stairs, past the bodies he’d left, and steadily made his way towards her. His face was streaked scarlet, yellow flames flickering within his green eyes as drops of red fell from his sacred weapon and spattered upon the ground. 

He bore no expression, not even pain or rage or anything that would give Edelgard even the slightest clue as to what he was feeling underneath that ashen, bloodstained mask. 

“I told him you were going to damn him,” Nemesis’s growl came from Byleth’s lips, making the rest of the class jolt in alarm. “Told him not to fraternize with you, but he didn’t listen. Part of me hoped I was wrong, that you were going to become part of him and he of you, but no.” 

“Professor?” Bernadetta whimpered, snot running down her tear-streaked face. 

“Tell me, El,” the voice that came next was Byleth’s own, tight with suppressed emotion and the agony of a crushed heart. “Did you order Kronya to kill my father? Solon to experiment on Remire Village?” 

“No, my teacher,” Edelgard shook her head, but never broke eye contact with those blazing irises. “I told you in Remire Village that I had nothing to do with Solon’s experiment, and neither did I have anything to do with Kronya or your father’s death. I know I deceived you to get this far, but I swear on my life that I had no part in what the Agarthans planned.” 

“Why should we believe you?” Nemesis growled, those eyes flashing yellow. “All you’ve done is lie to us.” 

“Us? Why is he talking like there’s two of him?” Ferdinand wondered. “And what’s with that voice and his eyes?” 

“What makes this the truth, Emperor?” the King of Liberation demanded, the Sword of the Creator shining erratically in his grasp: a warning. 

“Byleth, I swear on my love for you that I did not order your father killed, or the innocent people of Remire Village harmed,” it broke her heart to say those words, to speak of love to the man who had just butchered a small army of the Empire’s more skilled soldiers just to get to her. “I hated the Agarthans just as much as you did, and I wanted nothing more than to help you strike them down.” 

Part of her flushed from her declaration, the other half steeled itself for battle as the blood-covered mercenary in front of her stood as a statue, staring into her soul. 

“I knew it!” Dorothea whispered gleefully. 

“Love?” Hubert muttered in a deadly undertone. 

“Love?” Nemesis snorted, then gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Is that what compelled you do build an army with which to wage war on the Church? To plunge Fodlan into chaos, girl?” 

It was getting so damn hard to keep her breathing steady, to keep herself composed as wet heat prickled the back of her eyes and as her muscles trembled from the weight of her equipment. She didn’t even realize she had tears left to cry. 

“You used us,” Nemesis snarled. “All of us.” 

“How are you even speaking through him?” Edelgard demanded. 

“His spirit is in turmoil, rocked to its very core by you, girl,” the King of Liberation spat as the Sword of the Creator grew even brighter, flashing another warning rapidly. 

He cracked the knuckles on his free hand, a murderous yellow tint in his eyes. “I stepped forward because he doesn’t want to fight you. He doesn’t want to hurt his precious little El.” 

“What is it that you’re trying to do, El?” the voice and eyes changed back to Byleth’s. “Why did you lie to me?” 

“I want to free Fodlan from the grip of the Immaculate One and her Church,” Edelgard answered. “Its power is too deeply entrenched to remove simply by cutting off the head. It must be purged everywhere if the people are to tear themselves loose from their shackles.” 

“And your solution is war? To invade the rest of Fodlan and force them to kneel before you?” Byleth asked. 

“I’d prefer to avoid bloodshed, but the fanatics loyal to that monster won’t just allow her to die in vain,” Edelgard said bitterly, shaking her head as the words she’d repeated to herself a million times finally came forth. “They won’t just accept my rule, my words. They will fight to the death for their deluded Church, and so we must fight as well.” 

He was still here, still in his mind. Maybe she still had one last chance? 

Edelgard dropped her shield and axe, letting the metal ring loudly against stone as they landed. “Byleth, my beloved, will you join me? You know what Rhea is, what she’s done to you and countless others in her desperate desire to bring back her mother and the rule of the dragons. With you at my side, we wouldn’t need to fight nearly as many people: we could keep the bloodshed to a minimum and save more lives than we would otherwise!” 

“Save lives?” Rhea’s derisive snort drew her attention to the two dragonkin who were striding towards the gathering, stepping over bodies wherever they went. “You heathens aren’t going to save anyone. Well done in subduing the traitors, Professor. Now, finish off this traitorous descendent of House Hresvelg! Purge this land of that filth!” 

The archbishop had finally become unhinged, if that manic light in her eyes was saying anything. Maybe she’d always been as such and no longer wished to hide it. 

Edelgard tensed, her dagger hidden in her sleeve the only weapon she had left. If she could reach Rhea with it... this could end here and now! She calculated the distance, the weight of the familiar weapon, how quickly she could throw it. 

Byleth might kill her for it, but if she was going to die, at least it would be at his hands. Her scarred, broken heart belonged to him, and it always would. 

“Byleth,” she inhaled, turning her body to him to hide the movement of her arm. “I love you.” 

Her chest tightened, and she froze at the light that began to shine over his still, lifeless heart. The Crest of Flames flared to life, Rhea and Flayn both gasping. Edelgard looked down to see her chest a mirror of Byleth’s, her accursed Crest shining just above her armor. 

“El?” he whispered, a flood of emotions not her own crashing upon her. 

Fear. Anger. Betrayal. Shock. 

She became dimly aware of Hubert chanting in the background, an incantation of a powerful spell. 

Ice and pain and dread filled her chest and crashed within her, raging and howling and screaming enough to make the world blur and dance in her vision. She wanted to cry and scream and attack everything that made this horrible world so cruel and unfair and bloody. Edelgard’s grip tightened on the dagger, making it whisper against its sheathe. 

Love. 

That warmth filled everything, caressed the scars covering her body, the wounds she’d etched into her very soul to sharpen what had been broken, hone it into the weapon that would tear the Church down. The flames that would burn even the gods. His love for her, for his students, sent tingling warmth through every pore in her body, drawing the world back into focus. 

Then the lights, the Crests, and the warmth winked out as if it had never been there to begin with, the Sword of the Creator dim as it fell from Byleth’s hand and clattered against the stone. 

“Professor?” Rhea frowned, sensing the change in him just as well as Edelgard did. 

“Byleth!” she lunged for him, reaching out to grab his hand even as the light left his eyes and the green irises faded to pure white, his face turning ashen grey. 

“No, you don’t!” Rhea snarled, magic gathering in her hands as she strode forward. 

Edelgard snapped her wrist forward, sending her dagger into the monster’s chest with the most satisfying scream she’d ever heard, all the while her hand neared her Byleth as his body began to fall. 

Too much. He’d done too much, used too much. His soul couldn’t handle the power of a goddess for so long, his mortal body still too fragile. 

“Your Majesty!” Hubert, loyal, damnable Hubert, finished his incantation, and light enveloped them all. 

“No!” Edelgard didn’t know how many times she screamed the word as her fingers vanished just inches away from Byleth. 

The spell dumped the Black Eagles outside of the monastery, near the ruins of the old chapel where Jeralt had been killed. 

Edelgard whirled on Hubert, who lifted his hands in surrender as she forced enraged, heavy breaths from her lungs. “Hubert, why?” 

That was all she could muster. Those three syllables. 

An earthshaking roar shattered the air, even worse than any beast they’d ever fought. 

“EDELGARD! YOU WILL DIE FOR THIS!” a distorted, raging voice shrieked. “I WILL TEAR YOU APART MYSELF!” 

“That’s why, Your Majesty,” Hubert said after the air had stilled, his voice barely audible through the ringing in her ears. “The Immaculate One has surfaced.” 

“We have to go back for him!” Edelgard snarled, painfully aware that her emotions were making her irrational. 

“Your Majesty, that would be a death sentence,” Hubert warned. “The Church and the Immaculate One stand against us. We cannot go back, not yet.” 

Her heart ached, splintering and shattering even further as the image of Byleth falling flickered before her eyes. Lava pulsed from her heart with each agonizing beat, setting her veins ablaze. 

“The Immaculate One will not harm the professor, not so long as he holds the power of the Goddess inside of him,” Hubert said firmly, blocking Edelgard with his body as she attempted to move around him. “Give us two weeks to gather the rest of the Imperial Army, and we will storm the monastery and get him back for you.” 

“Get him back for me?” Edelgard repeated, her fists clenching at how the words made this exchange sound like a parent promising a child to find their lost toy. 

But he was correct: Rhea wouldn’t hurt Byleth so long as Byleth didn’t wake up and try to leave the monastery to join Edelgard. He was too valuable to her. 

Byleth was a part of Edelgard, now, irrevocably, and she reached into the shattered remains of her heart, feeling at the sharp edges as well as the parts worn smooth by the embrace of the one who now resided within it. 

“I will get you out of there, Byleth, I swear it,” she promised, letting both sides of her heart smolder and melt together into a singular, molten entity. 

And as that blazing core took its first unified beat, Edelgard straightened her back, ready to take on the world. 


	14. The Battle for Garreg Mach (End of White Clouds)

He was still sleeping, even two weeks after Edelgard had turned traitor. Rhea had taken that time to compose herself, to calm the rage that had surged forth the moment the Imperials had desecrated the sacred resting place of her mother. The Church had readied its defenses the moment Seteth had reported a massive Imperial army advancing from Imperial territories, its sheer size slowing its progress to a crawl. 

It was Nemesis all over again, but this time, the Empire was her enemy rather than her ally. 

Rhea looked down at the serene, ashen face of the professor, of the one her mother had granted power to before vanishing again. She had been so close... so close to bringing her mother back, to being back in her arms again. 

The vessel was alive, if just barely, but Rhea didn’t know how much longer he would sleep before awakening. He’d taken after Sothis quite well: falling easily into long bouts of slumber before awakening in order to better the world. He’d fallen asleep quite frequently in the past months, hadn’t he? 

“Lady Rhea, the Imperial army is almost here,” Seteth entered the infirmary, his face grim. “I’ve evacuated the towns as you ordered, but many of our knights and staff are trapped here in the monastery.” 

“We’ve had two weeks to prepare our defenses, and we will not yield to the defilers,” she tried to be confident, but the monstrous size of the Imperial army had already enabled them to completely encircle Garreg Mach’s main towns and entrances. 

They mustn’t lose, for her mother, for the people who believed in her. 

“This army is massive, we’re completely surrounded,” Seteth said softly, his gaze lingering on Byleth. “He’ll be the first thing she comes for; you know that. We should have moved him somewhere else, to divert her attention.” 

“The monastery is her main target, not him,” Rhea shook her head, wondering if she should don her ancient persona of Saint Seiros for this battle. “But I agree that the traitor will come for him the moment the front gates are breached.” 

“I’ll tend to him,” Flayn, sweet little Flayn, offered, sitting by the professor’s side and covering his still hand with both of hers. 

“Thank you, Flayn,” Rhea nodded, swallowing the faint vestiges of fear that lingered at the back of her mind. “Let us know the moment his condition changes.” 

She nodded, her eyes clear with purpose, just as they had been a millennium ago, before the Tailtean Plains had claimed her mother. 

Rbea and Seteth strode out of the infirmary, pausing in the hall as the full weight of what was going on settled on their shoulders. 

“Lady Rhea, I’m sorry,” her loyal friend and retainer sagged, despair etched upon his face. “I should have been more vigilant.” 

“Neither of us saw this coming, Seteth,” she chided him, her ancient heart pounding within her chest as a shift in the air made her fine hairs stand on end. 

It was so slight that even her enhanced senses had barely caught it. 

“Ah! You’re awake!” Flayn’s overjoyed voice rang from the infirmary. “Professor! I’m so glad to see you!” 

There came the rustling of sheets, and before Rhea could rush into the room to assess the vessel for herself, Flayn screamed. 

“Flayn!” Seteth was immediately dashing into the room, Rhea on his heels, to find the professor sitting up with a hand clamped around Flayn’s throat. “Release her! Now!” 

Color had returned to the vessel’s skin, his face turned away from Rhea’s sight as his attention focused on the squirming girl clawing at his hand. 

“Hello, Cethleann,” the voice Rhea had never wanted to hear again rattled through the room, her blood turning into ice and her muscles locking together. “It’s so good to see you again.” 

“Impossible! Professor Eisner, let go of my sister!” Seteth roared, reaching for the closest heavy object: an empty bottle of wine on the floor, left behind by Manuela. 

His head swiveled towards the man, the smoldering yellow eyes of their ancient enemy piercing their souls. 

“Your sister?” Nemesis, the King of Liberation, laughed harshly. “I think not, Cichol. Why should I let go of this sweet little thing?” 

“Nemesis!” Rhea swallowed her fear, swallowed her rage as Flayn gasped and spluttered for breath, her face slowly turning blue from the strangulation. “Release the child! Now!” 

“Ah, Seiros, my old friend,” the ancient king chuckled, his voice escaping the vessel’s lips as he examined his quarry. “Perhaps I will, if you let the boy leave.” 

“What boy?” Rhea demanded. 

Did he mean Cyril? Or someone else? 

“Your little vessel, of course. He’s strong, but he’s still only a boy,” Nemesis gave a rather bored look at Flayn. “Make up your mind quickly, this one is a mite fragile.” 

“Fine, he can go!” Rhea snapped, the sick smile of her old enemy taunting her from Byleth’s lips. 

“You swear it on the Goddess?” Nemesis asked, a pointed glare going towards the weakening girl in his grasp. 

“I swear on the Goddess Sothis that Byleth Eisner can leave,” Rhea spat the words out, and Nemesis nodded. 

He dropped Flayn, who hit the ground gasping and clutching at her now-bruised throat. 

“Good girl, Seiros,” the arrogant king sneered, the gesture looking unnatural on Byleth’s face. “Now, let’s get this over with.” 

Her blood remained ice in her veins. “Get what over with?” 

It happened in a flash: Nemesis threw off the covers, momentarily blinding Rhea and Seteth before the world shifted again, and Rhea threw herself backwards as the crackling Sword of the Creator sliced through where she’d just been standing in a flurry of sparks and red energy. 

“My revenge, of course!” Nemesis cackled, Byleth’s lithe body closing the distance between the two ancient enemies. 

Over a thousand years of battle and her own draconic instincts saved her: Rhea dove backwards into the hallways, the blazing sword missing the tip of her nose by an inch. Her back slammed into stone, taking the air from her lungs before she recovered enough duck another raging strike. 

The Relic made of her mother’s bones slashed into the wall where she’d been standing, gouging a burning red line into the stone and sending sparks everywhere. 

“Lady Rhea!” the guards in the hall immediately rushed forward, swords ringing from their scabbards. “Protect the archbishop!” 

“Now, now, this is between us!” Nemesis snarled, rearing back to send his whip-like weapon streaking towards the knights. 

Rhea tackled him, throwing her entire weight into the blow she slammed into the side of his head. Their bodies hit the floor, Rhea cursing her voluminous robes as she tried to roll and got her legs entangled in the fabric. 

She kicked herself free and jumped up at long last, spinning just in time to see Nemesis cut down both of the knights with a single swing, their armor shrieking as it scraped against stone. 

“Bah,” he grunted, turning back to Seiros. “I’ve been waiting far too long for this.” 

The hatred that smoldered in her heart was reflected in those burning, bloodshot yellow eyes, glowing like the dying sun. 

“If you want me, come get me, Nemesis,” Rhea turned and ran towards her chambers, where her old sword and shield were sequestered. 

“NEMESIS!” Seteth’s roar shook the very firmament of the world as the ancient man leaped from the infirmary, bringing the empty wine bottle down on the vessel’s head with all the strength he could muster. 

Glass shattered and blood sprayed as glittering shards rained down onto the floor, the latter gushing from a ragged tear that had opened from Seteth’s attack. 

“Nice try, Cichol,” Nemesis chuckled, his fist shooting out and cracking against Seteth’s forehead. 

Seteth slammed into the wall and slumped onto the floor, his eyes rolling back into his head. 

“Nemesis!” Rhea shouted to distract the king as more knights flooded into the chamber, shouting about the archbishop being under attack as a swarm of white armor stomped towards Nemesis. 

“My Lady, we must leave!” two of them were pulling on her sleeves, trying to take her down the stairs to the monastery. 

“No, I need to get to my chambers,” she ordered, fear gripping her mind as steel shrieked alongside her knights’ screaming. “I can stop him.” 

“My Lady?” the younger of the two knights hesitated, but her older companion nodded. 

“Lead the way: we’ll protect you with our lives!” 

Rhea dashed up the stairs leading to her room, the two knights stumbling and clanking up after her. Part of her wanted to leave one here to defend the narrow confines of the hall, maybe slow Nemesis down, but her experience shut that idea down. An ordinary sword would have issues going up against a lance in such conditions, but the Relic completely negated that advantage. 

She hit the top floor and flung open her door, her eyes coming to rest on the back wall, where her sacred equipment rested. 

“Lady Rhea, he’s right behind us!” one of the knights cried. 

“How?! There were so many others down there!” the second demanded, only for the telltale hiss of the extended Relic to fill the hall. 

The older knight turned in the doorway just in time to go flying backwards on the crackling, sparking line of the Relic, a loud crash announcing his marriage to the far wall in the corridor. 

Rhea lunged at her old sword and shield, sacred power flooding through her hands the moment they closed around the cool metal and rough leather. She spun to face her old enemy, who was kicking the corpse of the second knight off of his sword as he stalked into the room, covered in blood. 

The wound on his head had sealed itself, but his green hair was stained scarlet as his smoldering yellow eyes burned into Rhea’s very soul. 

“The Imperials are here, and now I am as well,” he rumbled. “You have nowhere left to run, Seiros.” 

Rhea crouched, calling upon her ancient warrior persona as she settled into a stance she hadn’t taken for centuries. 

“Mother, watch over me!” 

The two ancient enemies lunged, glowing blades extended. 

Edelgard was wound up tighter than she ever thought possible as the Imperial army descended upon the monastery, their mass pressing down on the desperate Church defenders and shoving them back towards the monastery gates. 

Hubert appeared at her side, dressed in dark robes befitting a mage of House Vestra. “My spies report a disturbance of sort in the monastery. Soldiers were swarming towards the upper offices.” 

“Upper offices? Isn’t that where the infirmary w-” her smoldering heart skipped a beat. “Byleth! He must have woken up! We need to get in there now!” 

“Your Majesty, Catherine is still holding us at bay at the front gates, but it’s reported that she’s tiring, making mistakes. Even Shamir is scrounging for arrows among the dead, trying to keep up the fight,” Hubert froze as a faint shockwave resonated through the air. “What was that?” 

“Where did it come from?” Edelgard was eyeing the white and black lines, already picking out the glowing red of Thunderbrand as its owner slashed relentlessly through everyone in her wake. “Was that Catherine?” 

“Your Majesty,” Hubert’s tense voice drew her gaze back to him, to the outstretched arm and finger. “Look.” 

Edelgard followed his gesture, her heart leaping into her throat at the faint red glow she could see on the upper levels of the monastery. 

“Is that... Byleth!” she could feel his presence, feel his warmth the moment her gaze locked onto that shimmering, flaring red glow. 

Hubert chanted, holding his left hand out as if pushing something while turning his right palm upwards. Arcane sigils flared around the extended hand, and a faint image of light appeared above his upward-facing palm. 

The image showed a close-up of the upper levels where the red light was flaring, showing two figures locked on combat on the battlements. One was undoubtedly Byleth: the Sword of the Creator was blazing in red lines with every swing he made, and the other was Rhea. 

The archbishop was desperately on the defensive, her glowing white shield and unusual sword both etched with the Crest of Seiros as she dodged, ducked, and deflected the blows raining down upon her. 

“He’s fighting Rhea!” Edelgard couldn’t believe what she was seeing, her heart fluttering in her chest. 

Byleth had chosen her over the Church, over Rhea. 

“He’s covered in blood, but he doesn’t seem injured,” Hubert noted, Edelgard cursing her distraction as she noticed the red stains covering her beloved. 

Rhea’s robes were getting in her way: she stumbled over the voluminous fabric every now and then while small tears had already been opened up in it in several places. They were tight and restrictive, clearly apparel not designed to allow for the freedom of movement demanded by combat. 

“Can you get closer?” Edelgard demanded, noting that both Rhea and Byleth seemed to be speaking. 

Hubert murmured an incantation and the image snapped even closer, providing ample view of the combat. 

“Nemesis, you will not win! I will not allow you!” Rhea’s declaration sounded tinny as it came through the projection. 

Nemesis?! 

“Silence, wretch,” the King of Liberation’s deep growl came through instead of Byleth’s own voice. “I will kill you and see to it that your filthy Church never gets its claws on this boy. He will not be your slave, or anyone else’s.” 

Damn him! What had he done to Byleth?! 

Rhea ducked beneath the Sword of the Creator and swung a fist at Nemesis, the impact of flesh on flesh echoing through Edelgard’s mind as Byleth’s head snapped back. 

“Nice one,” Nemesis chuckled, his foot shooting out and sinking into Rhea’s gut. “But I’m not going to fall for the same trick twice.” 

The Immaculate One gasped and stumbled back, shielding herself with her glowing buckler as her long green hair swished around her. 

“I will not... yield... to you!” Rhea gasped. 

“Take me to him,” Edelgard had used up all of her warp powder. “Hubert, take me there, now.” 

“Your Majesty, I cannot advise that, not while the front lines are still-” 

“Take. Me. There. Now,” Edelgard snarled, shooting him her no-nonsense glare. 

She was not going to lose Byleth again. 

“Traitor!” Catherine’s voice was followed by the famed swordswoman’s fierce, rage-filled visage as she sliced at the two Imperials. 

Edelgard dodged to the side, the crackling energy-infused blade of Thunderbrand sailing right past her head. The power resonating from the Relic set Edelgard’s fine hairs on edge, but she hefted her shield and readied herself for combat. 

“Do you still want Rhea to live?” Hubert asked, snapping the furious knight’s attention back to the image still hovering above his palm. 

Catherine froze, taking in the scene of Nemesis-Byleth driving Rhea closer and closer to a battlement extending over the cliffs. Her gaze moved from the image to the tiny figures it was displaying, rage and horror and fear all etching across her face at once. 

“You did this,” she thrust her blazing sword at Edelgard. “You made him betray Lady Rhea.” 

“He chose to fight with us because he believes in a better future,” Edelgard retorted, readying her weapons. “Unlike you.” 

“I fight for Lady Rhea, and I will not fail her! She is everything to me!” Catherine declared. 

“Then I suppose we both understand one thing,” Edelgard mused, spreading her weight and balance as evenly as she could manage. “We fight for the one we love.” 

Catherine scowled. “We understand nothing about each other.” 

“Monster!” Rhea’s voice came from the projection, making Catherine turn to look. 

The archbishop had been forced to the very edge of the battlement, a sheer drop into nothingness yawning behind her, and Nemesis-Byleth was striding closer and closer to her. 

“Give it up, Seiros,” the ancient king commanded. “I won’t underestimate you a second time, and neither will I allow myself to fall against you again.” 

“I won’t let you win, Nemesis,” Rhea gasped. “I won’t let... Zanado ever happen again.” 

“Lady Rhea! Hold on, I’m coming!” Catherine turned her back on Edelgard and sprinted back towards the monastery. 

“Let her go,” Edelgard ordered as Catherine plunged into the debacle, hacking her way back to the monastery and her beloved Rhea. “She’s not going to make it.” 

“With her gone, the Church’s front lines will collapse far quicker,” Hubert agreed. 

Edelgard turned her attention back to the projection, pride and affection flooding her chest as she watched Nemesis-Byleth grab Rhea’s robes and haul her towards him, their faces inches apart as he pressed the Sword of the Creator’s glowing tip against her heart. 

“It’s time for you to die, at long last, Seiros,” Nemesis declared, ignoring her flailing blows as she struggled against his strength. “I’ve been dreaming of this for a millennium.” 

“Then dream for a millennium more,” Rhea spat, slamming her shield into Nemesis’s face and grabbing his own collar. 

Edelgard didn’t know when she started screaming as Rhea dragged the surprised and off-balance Byleth forward and threw him off the battlements, his yellow eyes flickering back to green on the image just for a split second before he plummeted into the abyss. 

“Tear this place down brick by brick!” Edelgard roared, her molten heart pouring rage into her veins as she lifted her axe. “And bring me Rhea!” 

Byleth. 

Byleth. He was gone, thrown down something no one could possibly survive. 

He’s not a normal human, Edelgard repeated to herself again and again and again as she plunged into the fray, cutting swathes through the Church’s defenders with her axe until she was marching into the monastery markets at the head of the Imperial army. 

He’s not normal. He’s incredible, wonderful, powerful beyond mortal measure. 

Tear these dogs apart, then scour every inch of this damn monastery’s cliffs and surroundings until she finds him. 

Edelgard kept her heart chiseled from granite as her soldiers rounded up students and put them before the army, killing or arresting the remaining Knights of Seiros who hadn’t fled the monastery. 

Flayn and Seteth were nowhere to be found, neither were Alois, Catherine, or Shamir, but Edelgard’s molten heart almost sang with joy when Hubert returned with two soldiers, a dazed and beaten Rhea being dragged between them. 

“You’re a disgrace to the Hresvelg lineage,” the archbishop groaned, crying out as Edelgard’s armored palm smacked her across her cheek. 

“Be silent, monster,” Edelgard spat, leaning down to thrust her face into the archbishop’s. “I saw what you did. I will find Byleth and bring him back, and we will work together to rip up the corruption that is your Church.” 

Edelgard slapped Rhea again, earning a satisfying whimper from the dragon as her head snapped violently to the side at the impact. 

“Your Majesty, this is all the students,” an officer pointed at the assembled black and gold uniforms, but Edelgard could already see that Hanneman’s and Manuela’s classes were absent. 

They must have escaped during the chaos along with the other Knights of Seiros. No matter: The Church’s main stronghold was crushed and Rhea was the captive of the Imperial Army. All Edelgard needed was Byleth, and she would turn every single one of these damn mountains upside down until she found him. 

“What are your orders, Your Majesty?” Hubert asked. 

“Gather every aerial unit we have,” she commanded. “Get them to start scouring the cliffs where Byleth fell to see if they can find him. Organize teams to descend the mountains and search as well. I don’t want a single patch of ground to be uncovered.” 

Her faithful servant bowed low, but Edelgard caught the furrowed eyebrows. 

The teams went out, and when night descended, they returned empty-handed. They found nothing the next day, either, or the next. 

Or the next day. 

Or the next. 

A month passed and they still found nothing, but Edelgard never once gave up hope even as her armies moved to invade the Kingdom and the Alliance. 

She would find Byleth no matter how long it took. 

She’d promised. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're moving into the timeskip now, my peeps! Onward to hopefully lesser cliffhangers and everyone's favorite King of Liberation! Also the King of Screwing Byleth Over!


	15. Sanguine Flames: Awakening

Five years. 

Five years of blood, of violence that soaked into the land and birthed a new generation of suffering everywhere it went. 

She’d searched and searched and searched until diverting troops and resources to the mountains they’d covered a thousand times would prove detrimental to the war effort. 

And yet, here she was, Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg, standing among the ruins of Garreg Mach as the Black Eagles who’d accompanied her combed through the wreckage. 

So many memories with Byleth-it still hurt her heart to even think of his name-lingered within these ruined walls, these buildings scarred by nature and war. 

“Your Majesty,” Hubert approached, his black suit and cape cleanly pressed and immaculate as he bowed. “We’ve routed the bandits that had taken up residence in the ruins of the town. Caspar is taking the lead in locating any base they may have stashed stolen goods in.” 

She nodded, her golden crown a thousand pounds on her head as her blood-red armor and cape covered her body. She’d forgone the long hair, tying it into tight braids and two buns on the sides of her head to allow for the ease of movement. 

“Today was supposed to be a joyful day,” Edelgard reached up and placed her hand over her still-smoldering heart, faintly remembering the gentle warmth of Byleth’s affection for her. “We were supposed to be reunited on the Millennium Festival, after all.” 

“Your Majesty...” Hubert bowed again and moved away, returning to his duties. 

Edelgard returned her gaze to the window, hardening her heart yet again while still clinging to the faint remains of her beloved. 

“Byleth...where are you?” 

“Get up, boy,” a gruff male voice punctured the emerald-tinted darkness, making orbs of lights flicker to life around him. “It’s been long enough. We need to rise, to return.” 

“Return to what?” Byleth frowned, languishing in the silent, warm darkness. 

“The world needs us, boy. They’re still calling for you,” the voice answered. 

“Get up, you insolent child!” another voice snapped, this one female and markedly younger. “Have you forgotten who I am already?! I will not hold your hand!” 

“Get up! Wake up!” both voices joined together, filling his mind with their thundering words. 

Byleth woke up to an unfamiliar face staring down at him, etched with worry. 

“Oh, thank the goddess!” the man exhaled, wearing a simple tunic and breeches. “You’re finally awake! I wasn’t expecting to find someone floating down the river, but I’m glad I caught you!” 

Byleth groaned and pushed his unsteady, wobbling legs to hold his weight as he stood. “Where... where am I?” 

It was nighttime: the cold embrace of the dark, star-studded skies covering the world. 

“We’re in a village at the base of the monastery,” the villager explained, reaching out and placing a firm hand to steady Byleth when he swayed. 

“How long has it been?” Byleth frowned, feeling the weight of the Sword of the Creator on his waist. 

“The battle at the monastery was five years ago, and the Imperial Army has left the place abandoned after tearing it apart,” the words nearly made Byleth keel over. “The Millennium Festival was supposed to be this year, but with the monastery abandoned, I don’t think it’s going to happen.” 

“F-five years?” he repeated, the confusion on the villager’s face palpable. 

“Yes? The Empire’s been at war with everyone else since then,” the man nodded. 

El. He had to track down where El was, learn what the hells had happened ever since that battle. Ever since Nemesis had again underestimated Seiros and gotten them thrown off a bleeding cliff. 

“Hey, I was about to kill her!” Nemesis protested. “I wasn’t expecting that!” 

“You said the Imperial Army tore the monastery apart,” Byleth said to the villager, who nodded. 

“Yeah, they were looking for something, I think. They kept having parties roaming the mountains and cliffs by the monastery for over a year until the front lines shifted and those soldiers were needed elsewhere. I heard the Emperor, herself, joined those parties from time to time,” he said. “I wonder what they were looking for? Had to have been important: all that time and effort, and the Emperor personally taking part.” 

“I’d say so,” Byleth looked around, immediately spotting what could only be the remains of Garreg Mach high up on the mountains. 

Towers and walls had collapsed everywhere, leaving piles of rubble every which way as if they’d been uprooted in the search for him. 

“Is anyone in the monastery at the moment?” Byleth asked. 

“Not that I know of,” the villager shook his head, then reconsidered. “Actually, I heard that some Imperial troops went up to investigate the ruins for the Millennium Festival, but it was only a small group of foot soldiers, under the command of someone named Randolph.” 

His students hadn’t come back. 

“If they’re not here, then may I suggest another place to go to?” Nemesis spoke up. 

“I see, thank you,” Byleth turned to walk out of earshot, to talk to Nemesis. 

“W-wait! Where are you going?” the villager stammered. 

“I have somewhere I need to go. Thank you for helping me,” he nodded to the man, ignoring his pleas to remain as he slipped among a grove of trees. “Nemesis, what did you have in mind?” 

“Shambala,” the King of Liberation rasped. “We wipe out the Agarthans, use their technology to revive my army, and use it to pacify all three nations.” 

Byleth raised an eyebrow. “And why would I do that? I don’t want to fight the Empire. El might even be waiting for me to join her.” 

“Sothis asked you cut your own path, did she not? To decide your own fate,” Nemesis rumbled. “Do you really want to join a nation hell bent on conquest? We need to find Seiros, and it’s highly likely that she managed to escape after throwing us into that chasm.” 

Seiros... right, she was the biggest threat to the world at the moment, second only to the Agarthans. 

“The Empire has to be hunting her as well, yes?” Byleth guessed. “Edelgard wouldn’t let her just escape like that.” 

“We don’t know what’s going on or what’s happened to your Edelgard after you were thrown off,” Nemesis said grimly. “It’s been five years, boy.” 

“She kept looking for me,” Byleth reminded him. “I need to find her.” 

“And do what? Have a joyous reunion before plunging into war? She’s working with the Agarthans, boy, don’t forget that. They need to pay, first and foremost, before they do any more damage to the world,” the King of Liberation made a good point. “And traveling with a large army of the Agarthan’s friends will take forever. We are unknown and can take them out quickly and with minimal casualties to innocent people.” 

Again, he made a good point... and maybe the Agarthans would have useful knowledge? 

“Now you’re thinking, and if Edelgard ends up being as unhinged as Rhea after these five years, you’ll have an army to defend yourself with,” Nemesis added. 

“I don’t think that will be the case, but an extra army of sorts could be useful,” Byleth mused, frowning at the weight that filled his heart. 

It yearned to be near Edelgard, to drink in her presence and to hold her close to him and never let go. Well, obviously, he’d have to let go at some point, but the desire was there regardless. 

“And why would the Agarthans randomly have technology to revive an army lying around and not use it?” Byleth asked. 

Nemesis was silent. “They wanted to bring me back, before you were born, and wanted me to have an army at their command. Except I wouldn’t bow to them, not again, and they locked up the new body they’d made for me. My army lies dormant in Shambala, waiting for my return.” 

“Even the Elites?” 

“Probably: it wouldn’t shock me if they’d made more Relics for these puppets to wield,” Nemesis mused. “And the Church will likely be hunting for you.” 

“Because you attacked Rhea and got us thrown off a cliff,” Byleth drawled. 

“I was trying to get you out of the Church, away from Seiros’s clutches,” the King of Liberation muttered. “Away from the war before you were forced to pick sides.” 

Byleth could feel the truth from the King of Liberation’s words. He really had only been thinking of getting Byleth away from the Church, after attacking Rhea and killing her, of course. 

“Thank you, Nemesis. You tried to help me, so I’ll put my faith in your plan and go to Shambala,” Byleth tore his chest apart with that decision. “Despite how badly I want to seek out Edelgard and be by her side, the Agarthans won’t let me live even if I side with her. I don’t want to put her in that kind of danger, so I’ll simply remove the threat.” 

“Well, that works,” Nemesis chuckled. “Shambala is in Alliance territory, past Myrddin and just south of the Goneril’s river border.” 

“Goneril territory? Hilda...” how was the Alliance faring? 

Had the Empire conquered them or were they still holding on? What had Claude done these past five years? 

“We’ll have to find out, won’t we?” 

Right... to the East, then. 

El... wait for me. I’ll deal with the Agarthans and free you from them. 

Byleth’s stomach growled, making him pause. 

After I get something to eat. 

“Flayn, we can’t leave, not yet,” Seteth murmured from deep within the ruins of the Holy Tomb, where that Linhardt boy had been poking around, examining the Crests etched on the discarded sarcophagi. “Edelgard and her army are still here.” 

“I know, brother,” it was difficult to use the false identities, especially after what had happened five years ago with Nemesis, but the names were necessary. 

“I came back hoping to find some clue as to where Rhea has disappeared to, but there hasn’t been so much as a whisper of her presence, not even in the Empire,” Seteth reached up and rubbed his weary eyes. 

“What of Byleth?” Flayn asked that question again, the one that always raised tension between them. 

“If he is truly lost and has been taken over by the spirit of Nemesis, then he must die,” Seteth answered as he always did. “That is, if he survived that fall.” 

“Byleth is still in there, I know it!” Flayn insisted, clenching her small fists. “Before he grabbed me, his eyes were green, not yellow!” 

“And even if he is still alive, who’s to say he hasn’t joined up with Edelgard to destroy Fodlan?” Seteth demanded yet again. 

How many times must they go through this? 

“He and that traitor have made it plain that they harbor feelings for one another and that they won’t fight each other,” Seteth continued, not letting his daughter continue. “He cannot be trusted, at least not at the moment.” 

“But he fought for us in the Holy Tomb!” Flayn waved her arms around at their surroundings. “He fought against Edelgard’s forces!” 

“Because they attacked him first, from what you were describing,” Seteth sighed. “If they hadn’t, he probably would have just walked right up to Edelgard to talk to her.” 

“Byleth is a good person! He wouldn’t just betray us like that! There has to be something here that tells us what happened to him or Rhea!” Flayn insisted. 

“He attacked us and Rhea. He tried to kill you, Flayn,” Seteth looked at his daughter’s neck, still seeing the vivid bruises marring her pale flesh long after they’d healed. 

“Nemesis tried to kill me, not Byleth. We need to find him! He might be able to find Rhea!” the girl was being as stubborn as always, a trait she’d inherited from her mother. 

“And what do you suggest we do?” Seteth asked. “The entire Imperial army looked for him for over a year and found nothing. What could we possibly do?” 

“We call everyone back: Catherine; Alois; Shamir; and any of the Knights of Seiros we can muster,” Flayn declared, and Seteth paused. 

That... was actually a good idea! 

“We’ve found nothing on either Rhea or Byleth on our own, but together...” Seteth nodded slowly. “Once Edelgard and her entourage leave the Monastery, we can set up a base here away from the front lines and work on trying to restore order to this war-torn land.” 

Flayn nodded. “For Mother! For Lady Rhea! For the Goddess!” 

He couldn’t have said it better himself. 

“And for us, Cethleann.” 

Byleth could see the ravages of war present everywhere he went. Villages were tense, their people hurrying about while constantly looking about as if an army would suddenly appear and ravage the place. The faces he saw were weary, aged with stress or etched with suspicion as he moved in silence through their abode. 

“Now are you glad I’d suggested wearing that cloak?” Nemesis asked from inside. 

Right, the cloak that Byleth had bought from a traveling merchant with pink-red hair. She’d insisted that it was a necessity in these war-torn times, her smile cheerful yet deceptive as she playfully posed with her finger on her chin. She’d seemed almost desperate to get rid of it, now that he thought back on it. 

Anna, he thought her name had been. The material was a ratty grey cotton that fell almost to his knees, the hood roughly patched but keeping his bright green hair and eyes hidden. At least it was loose enough to not impede him much in combat. 

“I guess,” Byleth muttered, the Sword of the Creator wrapped up in thick cloth and hanging from his back like a bedroll. 

If anyone looked at him, they might see a wanderer or traveler, but certain others could see him as a spy, especially since he was skirting the border between Imperial and Alliance territory. 

The air was thick, almost choking him with tension and apprehension as yet another village set onto the banks of the river Myrddin came into view. It was a simple fishing hamlet: the clusters of wooden homes made of sawed planks and thatched straw roofs. A well rose from the commons in the very center, yet the thing that Byleth noticed quickly was the overabundance of fish. 

The creatures were piled into countless barrels or strung up in nets hanging by the many docks extending over the river, rows and rows of fishing rods sticking up into the air like the spears of an army. Villagers were milling about, gutting the day’s catch or scraping scales off meat while others hauled wood or bundles of water-soaked cloth about. 

Flayn would love this place, he mused. 

The stench of fish hung heavy as Byleth entered the village, keeping his hood low enough to obscure his unusual green hair and eyes. Imperial scouts and spies had to be active in the area, if those suspicious or fear-filled looks from the villagers followed him as he weaved through the commons. 

As Nemesis had pointed out days ago: his unique features would be quick to be reported to the Imperial army, which would then find its way to either Hubert or Edelgard. And once that happened, Byleth doubted it would take long for Edelgard to bring an entire army down on the area to find him. 

Part of him wanted to rip off his disguise, shout his name to the world and then sit down and let that army find him, if only to be reunited with El, but that double-edged sword would also mean the information could very well be taken to the Alliance, who might respond to that show of force with one of their own. 

“Doubtful,” Nemesis muttered. “If what we’ve heard from the last couple villages is true, then the Alliance is nearly split in half, one faction supporting the Empire, one faction supporting Claude. House Gloucester is the head of the pro-Imperial faction, and their territory is directly north of the river here, so they might not respond to Edelgard moving an army here.” 

Byleth sighed, catching a glimpse of a mother urging two children inside of one of the shacks. Why were so many people staring at him? 

“You there,” a gruff voice made him pause and look over to see a rather burly man approaching, his skin tanned from years of being on the river. 

His face was weathered and almost leathery, his hands callused and rough as he folded his arms before his broad chest. 

“Can I help you?” Byleth asked softly, forcing the man to lean in to hear him. 

“Yeah, you can get out of here before you bring any trouble down on us,” his breath stunk of fish like the rest of the town, his ratty beard stained in several places as tombstone-like yellow teeth were thrust into Byleth’s face. 

“I’m merely passing by,” Byleth kept his voice soft, glad that his cloak kept the tensing of his body hidden as he prepared himself for a fight. 

“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” the man roughly grabbed Byleth’s cloak with both of his meaty hands. “You get out of here and tell your little buddies that we’ll have that damn payment when we have it, and not any time sooner!” 

“Payment?” Byleth frowned. “What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t play dumb with me!” the man snarled. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? Those damn bandits who hide in the forest and demand tribute from us? You’re wearing one of their cloaks!” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Nemesis muttered. “That’s why that wretch was so eager to sell this damn thing.” 

“Bandits? I just bought this damn cloak off a traveling merchant,” Byleth muttered, keeping his head lowered. “Where did you say these bandits were hiding out?” 

“Why’d you want to know? So you can join them?” the villager spat, and Byleth could see others in the town silently watching the spectacle, a few gripping skinning knives as if they were going to stick them into this hooded stranger. 

“So I can destroy them,” Byleth answered. “I’m just a wanderer, but I have a particular dislike of bandits who prey on innocent people.” 

Surprise rippled through the village, the fists clenching his collar faltering. 

“Where are these worms hiding?” Byleth asked again, daring to lift his head to look at the villager. 

Nemesis, despite groaning at the distraction, went with the program and turned the green irises into smoldering yellow. 

“Uh, in the forest just south of here,” the villager holding him stammered. “Just follow the path out of the village until you hit the fork, then head west into the forest until you come across a cave at the base of a cliff.” 

“Thank you. I’ll be back shortly, after they’ve been dealt with,” Byleth brushed part of the cloak aside to reveal the gleaming silver blade he’d also purchased from Anna. “Release me, if you would.” 

That damn sword had cost Byleth everything he’d had left, but he needed another weapon and that sword was the only thing Anna had that he could use. If stories about a green-haired stranger circulated fast, stories about a Hero’s Relic would spread even faster. 

The villager complied, surprise written across his face along with fear as he no doubt realized just how close he’d come to death. 

“Follow the path south and head into the forest at the fork?” Byleth asked, and the man nodded. 

“Head west once you hit the fork,” another younger villager added. “Are you really going to wipe those bastards out?” 

Byleth looked at the young man and nodded. “I am. I’ll make sure none of them get away.” 

“Let me come with you,” the speaker insisted. “Pa has a trident for fishing, but I can-” 

“No, you stay here,” Byleth shook his head. “Hunting bandits is far more dangerous than hunting fish, and I will not let you go to your death. Make sure nobody leaves to come after me.” 

Oh, he knew his words wouldn’t sway them from following him to see if he was lying about taking out the bandits, but at least he could try. 

“You’re too damn nice,” Nemesis grumbled. “Now let’s teach these bandits a lesson.” 

Byleth found the path easily enough and began following it, the dirt trail kicking up little puffs of dust with each step he took. He already sensed his tails, the three villagers silently following him from a distance they deemed safe. 

Hunters, maybe: they were quieter than he’d expected and kept off the path, their soft treads barely making any noise. 

The air was chilled and filled with birdsong as the forest the path extended to drew closer and closer, a fork in the path at the head of it. Byleth looked westward, to his right, and saw the face of a cliff rising over the trees. 

“There you are,” he murmured, striding towards his target. 

He moved as silently as he could through the foliage, somehow managing to avoid getting his Relic’s wrappings or his cloak snagged on branches or bramble thorns. Petra would have been proud! 

Before long, the expanse of trees melted away to the cliff, and the yawning cave mouth that was gouged into its surface. Two ratty men in dirty cloaks almost exactly the same as the one Byleth wore were standing outside of it, their swords clearly neglected as they lazily waved the weapons around in slow circles. 

Byleth broke free from the foliage, both men freezing. 

“Oye, who’re you?!” one demanded. “Nobody’s gone out today!” 

“You’d best get outta here!” the second brandished his rust-pocked sword, nearly making it skitter off of the cliff. “And drop that cloak!” 

“I think not,” Byleth slipped his silver sword free from its sheathe and lunged, his cloak billowing behind him as he closed the distance. 

The bandits yelped and wildly lashed out with their ill-cared for weapons, but Byleth batted their clumsy strikes aside with ease. Metal rang against metal with another clash as he parried a wild thrust, pushed the bandit’s blade aside, then ran his silver sword through the thug’s chest. 

These guys were clearly more used to threatening villagers with the weapons than actually using them. 

The second bandit tried to swing his sword with both hands, but the short hilt made the move awkward and poorly coordinated. Byleth cut the man down with a single strike, letting him fall to join his companion on the grassy earth. 

“Well, that was embarrassing,” Byleth wiped his sword clean on his first victim’s ratty cloak, then decided that the act was pointless given the fight to come. “Now for the rest.” 

He delved into the cave, the moist air blasting him like a heated breath as he moved down a slight incline. Flickering torches lit up the inside of the jagged stone walls, splaying erratic shadows across the interior of this cramped, uncomfortable cave, but the walls carried the sound of numerous voices quite well. 

Loose stones crunched under his boots as he entered a larger chamber, immediately becoming the focus of a dozen men all dressed similarly to the two outside. 

“Hey, whaddya think yer-” the biggest brute was silenced by a flash of steel as Byleth lunged and buried his blade into the brigand’s ribs. 

Byleth ripped his weapon free and spun to slash across another bandit’s throat, dropping him before dashing to a third and adding him to the growing number of corpses on the rocky floor. 

“Get him!” the others managed to rally and charged Byleth all at once, waving their weapons around in great arcs. 

He ducked and weaved around the steel raining down upon him, blade a gleam of silver opening flesh and patchwork cloaks with each swing. 

A massive hammer cracked the ground behind Byleth, making him pivot and yank his sword from the body of the bandit he’d just finished off to face a brute in a worn and dirty hauberk, his hide helmet barely holding itself together. 

“I’ll kill you until you die!” he bayed. 

“Not very bright, is it?” Nemesis mused. “Guess the cloaks were too small, as well.” 

“But he has a hammer, so one hit will likely kill me if I’m not careful,” Byleth ducked as said hammer sailed over his head and slammed into the cavern wall, sending shards of stone in every direction. 

He hacked at the muscular arm, his blade gouging into the flesh and making the bandit scream in agony and drop his weapon. Byleth slashed and thrust again and again, cutting into the large target before him with ease. 

“Hurts! Make it stop!” the big bandit wailed, holding his bleeding arm up to shield himself from the silver blade opening him up. 

“Well, this is pitiful,” Nemesis muttered, bitter guilt flickering through Byleth’s mind. 

Might as well make his end quick. Byleth feinted a strike to make the brute open his defenses in anticipation of an attack elsewhere, then plunged his sword into the bandit’s heart. The brute gave a low moan of pain before crumpling onto the floor, his weight taking his corpse off of Byleth’s sword. 

“I actually feel a bit guilty about that one,” Byleth muttered, wiping his sword clean on a fallen bandit’s cloak. 

The cavern seemed empty, but he still had to see if there were any more bandits. Byleth moved through each chamber, finding containers of foodstuffs or valuables that had clearly been stolen from one place or another. 

“Hey, what’s that?” Nemesis’s voice made Byleth pause in his examination of the different valuables and piles of gold coins. 

The King made Byleth look at one of the barrels, which had a plethora of rings and necklaces of gold or silver tossed lazily about the lid. There was a golden locket among the spoils resting on a white kerchief, attached to a delicate chain, but what really caught Byleth’s attention was the silver two-headed eagle painted on its surface. 

“Looks like these bandits were getting some Imperial spoils,” Byleth mused, admiring the shine of the precious metals. “I wonder if El would like this...” 

“Still thinking of her, boy? She’s likely moved on from you, you know, maybe found someone else to give her heart to,” the King of Liberation warned. 

Byleth wrapped the locket in the handkerchief it was on and slipped it into the satchel containing his travel rations, hoping that would keep it clean. He tried to ignore how much his heart ached at Nemesis’s words, despite the thoughts now bubbling up. 

Did El forget about him in these past five years? Maybe not forgotten, but surely she’d moved on by now? Given her heart to another? 

Byleth inhaled shakily, trying to chase those unpleasant thoughts away. 

“No point in wondering about it until we see her again, right?” Nemesis said. “The villagers will be waiting for the good news.” 

“Yeah, they are,” Byleth figured he might run into one of his hunter tails outside, and part of him seriously debated taking as many of the gold coins as he could carry, since Anna had taken almost all of his. 

No, the village might need this gold more than him. The locket would be enough for now, and he could find some other way to line his pockets if he needed to. 

He made his way back outside, finding all three of the village hunters standing over the bandit corpses, examining them. 

“Hey, is that him?” they froze upon seeing Byleth. 

“I can’t tell: these cloaks all look the damn same.” 

“Yeah, it’s me. The bandits won’t trouble you any further,” Byleth said, gesturing back at the cave. “There’s an awful lot of food and valuables in there, stuff that could really help your village. I took a locket but left the rest for you all. Make good use of it.” 

“Wait, really? You actually killed them all?” a man in a ripped and tattered jerkin demanded, his mouth missing several teeth. “Goddess strike me down if you did.” 

“Take a look in the cave if you’ve the stomach for it,” Byleth jerked his chin towards the yawning mouth of the hideout. “I think the Goddess will forgive you.” 

“Can we go now? It’s a couple more days travel to Shambala, and I’d like to watch those Agarthans die sooner rather than later,” Nemesis grunted. 

Byleth let the king show him the direction he needed to head, then strode forward. 

After he dealt with the Ones Who Slither In The Dark, he’d see about reuniting with El. 


	16. The Ones Who Slither In The Dark

“Right, we’re all here, so what do you want us to do?” It had taken just over a week for all of the Knights of Seiros to finally gather in number back at Garreg Mach, their fractured groups slipping past Imperial patrols until they were at last back home. 

Catherine and Shamir looked a bit worse for wear than the others: the duo had been delving through Imperial targets trying to see if Edelgard had captured Rhea five years ago, but they’d found nothing. Alois had taken charge of rallying different sects of the Knights of Seiros against the Empire, and the man had partaken in several battles between the two groups already, with minimal gain. 

Loyal Cyril had gone through Alliance territory, trying to see if the pro-Imperial houses had any information, but he’d had no success either. 

“It’s become obvious to me that working separately isn’t going to help us find Lady Rhea,” Seteth looked over the assembled, admitting that it warmed his heart to see them all again. “Therefore, I have come to conclude that we must combine our efforts in order to cover as much ground as possible.” 

“I guess, but where do we even start?” Catherine shrugged helplessly. “It’s been five years of nothing.” 

“We can’t move freely with this war going on,” Shamir added. “Too much suspicion is being cast on travelers nowadays, with suspected spies being harassed everywhere they go.” 

“Yeah, the tension in the Alliance sure made it hard to get around the houses,” Cyril nodded. “This war is making it really difficult to find Lady Rhea.” 

“So, why don’t we do something about it?” Seteth mused, his mind going through the enemies the Empire was currently facing. “If we were to fight against the Empire, sabotage it at key positions to allow the Kingdom or the Alliance to hit back...” 

“Are you suggesting we go to war?!” Alois spluttered. “But there are so few of us!” 

“We’re a small, elite force. We’d be able to move quickly to hit storehouses or other important strategic targets, although we wouldn’t be able to hold them long before the Imperial Army’s massive size is brought to bear,” Shamir mused, although her brows her furrowed. “I do agree that our separate searches have been fruitless, however.” 

“Where do we go first, anyway?” Catherine asked, looking around at the assembled Knights. “The Kingdom or the Alliance?” 

“I say the Alliance: their leader is still alive and I’m fairly certain the pro-Imperial houses will switch their allegiance the moment the threat of Imperial intervention is removed,” Shamir suggested. “Cyril, what do you say?” 

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” the boy nodded. “They’ll only fight for the Empire so long as their borders are still threatened by ‘em. If we removed the threat of the Empire, Claude might be able to bring the Alliance back together.” 

“And where would we strike?” Catherine asked, cracking her knuckles as she warmed up to the idea. 

“The Great Bridge of Myrddin,” Seteth suggested. “It’s the only way to get into the Alliance with a large army, so if we hold it long enough for Claude to unify the Alliance, we may just turn the tides of this war.” 

“If Claude can unify the Alliance,” Shamir added with a frown. 

“I think he can, he’s been called the Master Tactician for a reason,” Seteth reminded her. “He’s managed to skillfully prevent Imperial intervention in what is being projected as an internal affair in the Alliance, but it’s going to take an external force to break the stalemate.” 

“W-well, it appears we have our goal!” Alois swallowed, for once not making one of his horrible jokes. “I just hope we don’t burn too many bridges in pursuing it!” 

Never mind. 

“Alright, let’s make a plan and take ‘em on!” Catherine cheered, itching for a fight as always. “As long as Lady Rhea needs me, I’ll cut through everyone in my path!” 

“Right,” they were really going to do this. 

The Knights of Seiros were going to war against the Empire. 

“There it is: Shambala,” Nemesis announced, his voice barely audible over the thunder and roaring rain. 

Byleth squinted through the downpour at the yawning maw carved into the earth, the unusually shiny black material lined with glimmering veins of light. His cloak and armor had been soaked through, the icy water making him shiver as the heat was sapped from his body. 

The broiling grey clouds flashed with lightning overhead, followed by a low rumble of thunder that shook the very earth. The Agarthans were hiding just beneath the earth. 

The urge to rip them apart was almost unbearable, if he was being honest: every muscle and tendon in his body yearned and begged for action, for violence. 

Even the Sword of the Creator felt thirsty for blood. 

Byleth hurried into the unusual cavern, frowning at how his boots clicked against the material and sent echoes down into the darkness. The unusual veins of light provided him with ample view of his surroundings, namely the tunnel descending deeper and deeper into the earth. He shrugged off his soaked cloak and set it against the ground, leaving his silver sword along with it as he removed his Relic from its wrappings. The blade hummed, eager for violence, as he hooked it to his waist once more. 

“We’re nearly there, boy; just a little bit further,” Nemesis rumbled. “Then we can see about your Edelgard.” 

“My Edelgard?” Byleth repeated, the two words making his chest fill with that unusual fuzzy warmth. 

“Yeah. Your Edelgard,” the King of Liberation chuckled. “Or have you forgotten your little trip to Enbarr?” 

No, he hadn’t. That trip and the time spent with El... that would remain in Byleth’s fondest memories until the day he died. Maybe even beyond. 

“And you forced me to bear witness to the two of you practically being attached to the face for much of the trip,” Nemesis grumbled. 

“I didn’t force you to do anything,” Byleth reminded him. 

They kept bickering as Byleth strode into the depths of the Agarthan’s home, his eyes quickly adjusting to the minimal light being emanated by the walls. The walls were bare and empty aside from the lights, and Byleth briefly thought how fitting that was for the Agarthans when the seemingly endless tunnel abruptly expanded into a massive cavern. 

Black and silver buildings filled the cavern, red or blue light slithering through the unearthly stone comprising each one. He could see the black forms of Agarthan soldiers milling about, their snow-white flesh standing out sharply against the darkness of the cavern. 

A particularly large building in the very center of the complex caught his attention, a familiar presence sequestered within its walls. 

“Well, time for revenge a thousand years past due,” Nemesis laughed ominously. 

Byleth unsheathed the Sword of the Creator and set off at a slow jog towards the compound, his footfalls clicking against the stone. 

“Intruder! It’s the Fell Star!” a pale-skinned scout shouted from the walkways surrounding the complex. 

The other Agarthans immediately halted what they were doing before scrambling for weapons, their shouting echoing throughout the cavern. 

“Release the seals on Titanus!” a voice seared into Byleth’s memory shouted from some voice-amplification system. “Destroy the Fell Star!” 

“It’s him, the one who shielded Kronya five years ago,” he murmured, rage burning within his chest. 

The scout who’d alerted the others charged towards Byleth, his white flesh a blur as his chain-heavy Brawler’s armor rattled around him. A sweep of crackling crimson energy and sparks later, followed by the impact of sword on flesh and metal that jarred Byleth’s arm, and the Agarthan tumbled to the ground with a crash. 

He kept moving forward, kept pressing onwards as he turned a corner and found a stairway leading into the otherworldly compound. An Agarthan Swordmaster with a gleaming curved blade led the charge, his voice raised in a guttural shout as he closed the distance between the two of them. 

Byleth ducked to avoid the sweeping strikes of his opponent, darting backwards as that vicious curved blade nearly took his head off. The Sword of the Creator flicked out, hammering the Swordmaster’s blade hard enough to make it snap with a metallic shriek. The Agarthan swore and tried to lash out with his foot, but Byleth snapped his wrist out and raked his sword against his enemy. 

As the Swordmaster fell, Byleth saw a long hallway opening up in front of him, with a break to his right leading to a wider courtyard. Taking a gamble, mostly because he’d heard his enemy’s voice coming from that large building in the center, Byleth dashed towards the courtyard. 

“Take ‘em out quickly, boy!” Nemesis barked. “I don’t know what Titanus is, but it sounds like bad news.” 

“On it,” Byleth froze as a massive metal creature stomped into view, spheres of blue light shining all over its stout body. 

It looked like a massive, walking suit of armor, towering like a house over Byleth and carrying a huge fence-like shield comprised of strips of metal held together by a frame, while its other hand held a spiked fist weapon large enough to impale a horse upon its triangular blade. 

What was that thing called again? Byleth had seen some of the more skilled hand-to-hand fighters using it in the past. 

That ‘thing’ glowed red, giving off steam and making the air around it ripple and distort with heat. 

“Well, it’s clearly dangerous,” Nemesis commented as the moving suit of armor slashed its weapon forward, expelling a blade of pure heat at Byleth. 

He dove under it, the arid blast baking the air as it passed overhead. His lips cracked, his breath caught in his lungs from the stagnating heat, and he was certain part of his hair was now on fire. 

Ah, katar! That’s what that weapon was called! 

“Fascinating, boy, now duck!” 

Byleth flattened himself against the ground just in time for that monstrous katar to scythe through the air where he’d just been standing, whipping up a wicked gale in its wake from the force of the blow. 

He whipped outwards with his weapon, but the ancient blade only partially bit into the Titanus’s armored hide. Byleth rolled back to avoid another attack, frowning as he looked up and down at the mechanical beast. 

“The body is too sturdy, even the Sword of the Creator can’t cut through,” he looked for a core, for any sort of power source, but found nothing but metal. 

“Fire up the Vishkam! Slowly increase the magical power channeled through it!” 

And what the hell would this be? 

Electrical currents flickered through the air, making Byleth’s hair stand on end. He looked back towards the large building to see two strange pillars rising into the air, electricity crackling around them as an ominous hum built up in the air. 

Byleth didn’t need his guest’s guidance to dive to the floor as both pillars ejected white-hot bolts of lightning, the thunderous roar of the spells slamming his eardrums. Somewhere between the ringing of his ears, an idea formed in the mercenary-turned-professor's mind. 

He ran towards the devices as they powered up with another hum, lines of electricity wrapping about the unusual grooves in the pillars as they began to glow. The Titanus, predictably, followed him, each footfall an earthquake and a roar of metal. Its masters, on the other hand, had backed off into a loose semicircle, pale faces lit with anticipation as they watched their machine stomp towards its prey. 

They expected the Titanus to kill him for them. 

“Boy, if this doesn’t work, I’m going to kill you,” Nemesis warned as the two pillars began to vibrate with the intensity of the energy they were storing, growing brighter and brighter. 

The Titanus reared back to strike, metal groaning with the movement, right as the Vishkam expelled their pent-up energy in an ear-shattering roar. Byleth hit the floor again, the superheated lightning passing over him and lighting up the world. An explosion of hot air and screeching metal slammed into his body, the force of the blast throwing him against the floor and making his nerves scream in agony. 

“Up! Up! Get up!” Nemesis roared, his voice the only clarity in the world as an invisible hand hauled Byleth to his feet. 

The world swam as his ears registered only the tones of the high-pitched ringing as that unseen power kept his legs from giving in. 

“Snap out of it! They’re charging!” a burst of lava entered Byleth’s veins, the agony snapping the world back into focus and banishing the infernal squealing in his ears. 

The Titanus was lying on its back behind him, its metal body blackened while the two impact craters glowed a molten red. The two Vishkam were charging with another hum, and Byleth could feel the stunned gazes of his surrounding enemies. 

“Kill it! Kill the Fell Star!” one finally broke their reverie, the others taking up her cry and dashing forward en masse. 

Byleth ducked beneath a gleaming spear, grabbed the weapon’s haft with his left hand, then slashed its owner with his sword. He spun, swinging wildly with the spear after wrenching it from the corpse to force his enemies to back off, create space. One fool didn’t get the memo to step back and took the heavy spear head to the neck, the impact jarring Byleth’s arm and wrenching the weapon from his grasp. 

Good enough: he had enough space to unleash his Relic’s power. 

With a snap and a hiss, the Sword of the Creator extended and slithered outwards, impacts shaking Byleth’s arm as the burning, crackling red line raked through the Agarthan lines. Pale bodies either fell or were thrown through the air, and Byleth watched with no small amount of satisfaction and curiosity as one body pinwheeled towards the Vishkam on his left. 

The device was whining loudly, electricity and light almost too bright to look at as it prepared its next shot, then the Agarthan’s body slammed into it. Electricity and magical energy erupted in a brilliant, blinding supernova, this explosion almost as impressive as the one that had felled the Titanus. 

Byleth grabbed another body, the leaden weight of the corpse making him grunt as he took aim and hurled the poor bastard at the second Vishkam just as it was about to discharge. The resulting explosion was just as brilliant as the first, though Byleth had to roll to avoid a few stray shots of lightning. 

“Are you done making things explode? Even my ears are starting to ring,” Nemesis grumbled. 

“I hope so,” Byleth looked around at the score of dead Agarthans, surprised that there hadn’t been more of them. 

Right as he thought those words, the doors of the building in front of him slid open and a massive battlehorse came thundering down the stairs, its owner angling a lance at Byleth. He snapped the Sword of the Creator forward, the whip-like blade punching through the Great Knight’s weaker neck armor and spearing the soft flesh beneath. 

The horse barreled past, the beast trying and failing to take a bite out of Byleth as he danced out of its reach. It cantered away, confused by the lack of guidance as the armored figure on its back slid off and hit the ground with an almighty crash. Dark magic streaked over his head, followed by a curse from the mage standing in the doorway 

Byleth snapped the Sword of the Creator forward again, the blazing weapon spearing the mage’s throat and sending them hurtling back into the building. He jogged up the stairs and found what appeared to be a central hub, lights flickering and flashing all over. The mage from five years ago was standing atop a raised dais, dark energies crackling and swirling around him. 

“At last, you are here, Fell Star, or should I say, Sothis!” the man seethed, his dark cloak billowing behind him as the darkness continued to grow. “I will destroy you and finally get vengeance for all Agarthans!” 

“I am not Sothis,” Byleth corrected. “And neither am I Nemesis. I am Byleth Eisner, and I will get revenge for my father. I will kill you for myself, and for El.” 

The Agarthan scoffed. “El? That useless girl was supposed to kill you, but instead she fell in love with you and wasted over a year looking for you before the war forced her to stop. She even had the nerve to try to trick us into looking for you, if only to get our hands on the Sword of the Creator: our greatest creation.” 

Then the dark clouds erupted, dozens of spears of black light shooting towards Byleth. Nemesis whipped the Sword of the Creator forward in a wide sweep, slashing each attack into nothingness. 

“Don’t give him time to cast!” the King of Liberation barked. “His magic is far stronger than any average mage’s!” 

Byleth dashed up the stairs as a flurry of dark orbs pelted the air around him, explosions shaking the chamber with each volley as he ducked and weaved through the storm. 

“Damn you! Even if it destroys Shambala, I will kill you!” the mage roared, dark energies gathering into a tightly condensed ball in his hands. 

The ground began to shake, cracks forming on the floors and walls as chunks of the ceiling began to fall with ear-shattering crashes. 

“Kill him now!” Nemesis roared, his voice urging the Sword of the Creator forward. 

The blazing weapon lanced right through the dark magic in the Agarthan’s and bit into the soft flesh beneath, making the creature scream in agony. All at once, the spell dissipated and the earth stabilized, silence filling the chamber. Byleth’s footsteps echoed through the emptiness, punctuated by the Agarthan’s pained gasps as he desperately tried to gulp down air, clutching at his chest to stem the bleeding. 

Some sort of strange sigil was on the floor, just out of reach of both combatants. 

“You will never... get to celebrate your victory,” the Agarthan gasped, looking down at the symbol on the floor. “I will get revenge... for all Agarthans...” 

“Don’t let him touch that mark! He’ll call a javelin of light down on our heads!” 

The Agarthan lunged right as the Sword of the Creator was snapped forward, the impact of weapon on flesh reaching Byleth’s ears. The Agarthan’s body slammed against the wall and slumped to the floor, his labored breathing filling the room. 

“Damn... you... You have taken... everything from us... again,” he rasped, coughing wetly and spewing blood from his mouth as he glared at Byleth. “My kin... are many... they will hunt... you down.” 

Then the Agarthan went still, his mouth slack as more crimson dribbled from his lips. 

“We must have gotten here when many of the Agarthans were away on missions,” Nemesis mused. “That means there’s many more we need to track down. You up for it, boy?” 

Byleth sheathed the Sword of the Creator. “Always. Now, where is this army of yours?” 

“I can feel it nearby,” Nemesis murmured. “Back outside, boy.” 

Byleth strode out of the central room, pausing at the top of the entryway’s staircase to look down at the chaos he’d strewn. The Agarthan great knight’s battlehorse was gone, perhaps having wandered off in search of food or someone to command it, but the score or so of corpses blanketing the dark floors remained. The foul stench of burned flesh wafted up from the destroyed Vishkam pillars, both of which were sparking and crackling through the blackened corpses sprawled upon them. 

The fallen Titanus was still on its back, thankfully not having revived, still molten red from where it had been hit by the Vishkam. 

Byleth walked past the destruction, pushing the empty faces and dead eyes away as he followed Nemesis’s directions down a corridor skirting the edge of the main hub. At the very end was another door to the left, leading into a strange room filled with what looked like... coffins? The things were lined in a row against the walls, and it took Byleth a moment to realize that there were twelve of them. 

The rectangular devices glowed blue in the very center, all except for one: this one, in the middle of the row, glowed purple-red, and it had been tightly wrapped with heavy, thick chains. 

“My rage would not be so easily contained, it would seem,” Nemesis chuckled, actually sounding proud of this predicament. 

“So, inside of this is...” 

“My body,” the King of Liberation nodded. “After I fell on the Tailtean Plains, the Agarthans took my body and brought it here, working laboriously for centuries to bring me back to life as their slave. They brought my body back, but I was still sealed in the Sword of the Creator, so all they did was create a mindless killing machine hell-bent on killing Seiros.” 

“Is it awake?” Byleth frowned, studying the massive chains and noticing the wear on them, as if they’d been stretched to their limits many times over by what was inside. 

He could feel the powerful presence slumbering just on the other side of those chains, felt the waves of rage emanating from within. 

“I don’t think so. It seems to be waiting for something,” Nemesis mused. “Cut it loose, if this is going to work, then I need it free.” 

Byleth raised an eyebrow at that, frowning at the way his Crest smoldered within his chest in response to the other presence. “You sure that’s a good idea? If your body’s lost to its bloodlust...” 

“I know you have ample reason to doubt me, boy, but this just feels right,” Nemesis rumbled, oddly subdued. “If you want my army, then you need my body.” 

“I need your body?” Byleth frowned at the wording of that. 

“To command the Liberation Army, you need the King of Liberation,” the ancient warlord declared. “Otherwise, they will not follow you.” 

Byleth clenched his Relic tighter, sighing as his thoughts raged and warred within him as he considered just how this might come back to bite him. 

“Damn it all,” Byleth swung, his sword neatly cutting the chains in half and making them clatter to the ground. 

The door was immediately wrenched free from inside by two massive, grey-tinted forearms, then heaved to the side with an almighty crash of stone. Purple smoke exhaled from the coffin, shrouding the massive body that emerged from its slumber. Glowing red eyes were in the place of smoldering yellow, livid scars on its chest from where Seiros had carved out its former life. 

“You... you have the Crest of Flames, as I do,” it rumbled in a guttural, almost demonic voice. “Who are you?” 

“I am Byleth Eisner, Nemesis,” he held his ground as the titan towered over him, staring at the weapon in his hand. 

“Nemesis... yes, I am Nemesis: King of Liberation,” it growled. “Seiros... I need to kill Seiros.” 

“This is unusual, to say the least,” the Nemesis in Byleth’s head mused. “Now... let me try something!” 

Byleth’s blood warmed, the Crest Stone in his chest shining brightly. The Nemesis body froze, its own Crest of Flames blazing to life on its forehead, and the world closed in around Byleth in a wave of inky darkness. 

“Uh, Nemesis, did we just die?” Byleth patted himself down, felt all the signs that he was alive. “No, we’re alive.” 

“Yes, you are alive,” the voice of the King of Liberation echoed through the void. 

Outside of Byleth’s head. 

The ancient king materialized in front of him, forehead still blazing with his Crest as eyes alike to a dying sun stared down at the vessel of the Goddess. His chest still bore the wounds of his death, but his body pulsed with power and life as he gave Byleth a wicked grin. 

“Been a long time since I’ve been in this body, but I find it more restrictive than I remember,” Nemesis looked down at himself, flexing his fingers. 

“This was your plan? To take your body back?” Byleth guessed. 

“No, I cannot inhabit my body while my soul is still sealed within your sword,” Nemesis shook his great head. “This... is merely a catalyst for what needs to be done in this space.” 

“Where are we?” Byleth’s chest grew warmer as if in response. 

“In the Crest Stone, the very heart allowing us to inhabit this same mind,” the king’s face grew solemn and determined. “Boy, do you want to free Fodlan from this madness? To save everyone?” 

“As many as I can,” Byleth nodded. “I want to put an end to this war, to release us all from the yoke of the Church of Seiros. I want everyone to be able to find common purpose together without being lied to by an immortal being, to come together as one people.” 

“Well said, boy,” Nemesis nodded. “Then we share the same wish.” 

Their Crests shone brightly, making the void lighten and fill with warmth. 

This was eerily reminiscent of when Sothis had fused their souls... 

Nemesis laughed. “You have the right idea, but I don’t plan on disappearing like her. Since we’re only connected partially, I can still interact with you even if you do not hear my voice anymore. I have made countless mistakes throughout my life and my death, and I think it’s time that I step back and leave this world in your capable hands.” 

“Nemesis...” Byleth found a lump forming in his throat, tried to swallow it. 

“Now then, Byleth, accept my power!” the King of Liberation lifted his hand, his body fading in a flurry of sparks that flew into Byleth. 

Power flooded into his body, then erupted in a bright crescendo of golden flames that swallowed the void, spiraling back into Shambala. Byleth inhaled slowly at the warmth pulsing through his veins, tingling erupting all over his body as if fire was coursing through him. 

Why did his body feel heavier? 

Byleth looked down to see that his mercenary garb had been replaced by a thick black breastplate styled to look like dragon scales, his legs shielded by greaves engraved with golden flames. Studded boots snugly hugged his feet, tipped in iron in case he really wanted to kick someone and ruin their day. His arms were covered by spiked plates similar to the ones that Nemesis had worn, his hands tucked into gauntlets shaped like claws. 

A heavy black cape was draped over his shoulders, the fur endings brushing against the back of Byleth’s shins as he shifted his weight. He peered over his shoulder, twisting his neck uncomfortably to look at the golden Crest of Flames emblazoned on the cape. 

“Well, this is going to be hard to hide,” Byleth commented, but there was no answer. “Wait, how do I wake up the army?” 

Right as he said that, ten of the other coffins glowed red and swung open, disgorging warriors in ancient armor. The eleventh remained shut, but the red eyes of the Ten Elites bored into Byleth as he glanced over them, their names filtering in from deep within his mind. 

“Blaiddyd; Goneril; Riegan; Dominic; Fraldarius; Gautier; Daphnel; Gloucester; Charon; Lamine,” he murmured, that presence inside tugging his gaze upwards. 

Hanging above each of the coffins were weapons that looked as if they’d been hewn from obsidian, their artificial Crest Stones infusing them in a blood-red light. The Agarthans had managed to recreate the Hero’s Relics, and sitting above the tomb of Nemesis was a dark Sword of the Creator, the Crest of Flames etched onto one of the two Crest Stones attached to the weapon. 

Byleth held out his free hand to the replica of his Relic, which flew forward and smacked into his palm, glowing as he wrapped his fingers around it. Warm, crackling power surged into his flesh, making his muscles tighten and smolder. 

“Well, this is going to be interesting,” Byleth mused, studying the two Swords in his hands. “I’ve never dual-wielded, before.” 

The dark version was unmarred and gleamed ominously, free of the cracks and chips the original weapon bore, and its second Crest Stone shone in mimicry of the Crest of Flames. 

Byleth looked at the coffin that didn’t open, its saber-like Relic dim and empty above it. “Maurice. Why didn’t he come out?” 

He could feel a presence inside of the coffin, but it was dormant, as if waiting for something else. 

The ground shook, making Byleth stumble and fight to regain his footing as he struggled to balance himself with all of this new weight on his body, and he was thanking Sothis for the padding he could feel saving his joints and shoulders. The cavern didn’t collapse, rather feeling as if something beneath Shambala was stirring, slowly awakening. 

“What the hell?” he scowled as the rumbling came to an end. 

“We are ready to serve, my king,” a monotone voice echoing from the Goneril body said. 

“The Liberation Army awakens,” Dominic announced. “We wait for your orders.” 

Was that how he sounded all the time: empty and emotionless? 

“We follow you, King of Liberation,” Lamine declared, a black and gold orb shining red from where it levitated above her coffin. 

“To the end,” the Ten Elites spoke all at once, reaching up to reclaim their Relics before lifting them in salute. 

And what end would that be? His? Fodlan’s? His students’? 

Edelgard’s? 

“What do I do now?” he wondered, the thought of his beloved El bringing a gentler warmth to his chest. 

“My king, I can sense a threat lingering nearby,” Goneril spoke up again. “The one bearing my Crest is getting ready to fight to the northeast.” 

The Elites could sense their descendants? Or the Relics, maybe? And the northeast... that could only be the Fodlan’s eastern border. 

“Hilda? Could the Almyrans be mounting another assault on Fodlan’s Locket?” Byleth frowned, just as another thought reached him. “Blaiddyd, can you sense Dimitri at all?” 

He’d heard that the prince had been killed, but rumors were abound that an army bearing the Kingdom’s flag had been moving through Alliance lands, trying to get to the Imperial border. 

“I can feel nothing but savage hatred and desperation from the one bearing my Crest,” the ominous, towering figure of Dimitri’s ancestor reported. “His mind is shattered and unkempt. He will be a dangerous one to deal with.” 

Well, he was alive, at least. That had to count for something. But... shattered and unkempt? What had happened to Dimitri these past five years? 

“What about Claude?” Byleth looked at Riegan. 

“He is guarded, preparing for some conflict separate from Goneril’s Crest Bearer,” the Elite responded. “He waits for a potential ally to move into place.” 

So, they only had a superficial insight to the feelings of their descendants, it would seem. Nothing too specific, unfortunately, but Byleth would worry about that later. 

“Goneril, what more can you tell me about Hilda?” 

“She is afraid, perhaps of the enemy forces bearing down upon her,” the War Master reported. “She fears she will not survive.” 

Were the Almyran invaders really that powerful? This would be a good opportunity to test these new soldiers, to see how well the Liberation Army performed. 

“We move for Fodlan’s Locket,” Byleth decided. 

The Ten Elites bowed, their Relics shining brightly in their grasp. “As you command, my king.” 

King... was he really worthy of such a title? This path he was going down was vastly different than anything he’d ever expected, but it was the one he’d chosen. 

And as he’d promised Sothis, he would cut his own way forward no matter what. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mention Thales by name because Byleth never learned it in this version and since the chapter was from Byleth's perspective, it would have been weird that he knew it. Solon didn't say "Thales will find a way to- blah blah blah" after being defeated in the Sealed Forest, and I don't think I had Edelgard mention it to Byleth, so he has no idea what Thales' name is.  
I also wanted to keep the Elites' ability to 'sense' a bit of what their descendants are feeling a bit on the downside, since being able to read their minds would be ridiculous, in my opinion. The Knights of Seiros attacking Myrddin will pretty much go the same way it had in Silver Snows, with victory basically being carried on Catherine's back since she has a Relic and with the Kingdom and Alliance armies moving through it towards Gronder Field afterwards. I'm still debating on whether or not I want Lorenz and Ferdinand to die defending the bridge against the Knights. Gah, decisions, decisions.


	17. War and Chaos

“Ha!” Catherine roared as she brought her blazing Relic down on an Alliance knight’s head, Thunderbrand’s blade carving through metal and the flesh beneath it with sickening ease. 

“W-wait! Please don’t kill-” that blonde-haired Alliance noble who’d teleported a small battalion onto the battlefield screamed as Alois gouged him open with a swift, brutal strike of his axe. 

The Knights of Seiros had engaged the Imperial garrison of the Great Bridge of Myrddin, roughly two hundred knights now facing an enemy that outnumbered them nearly three to one. With Catherine leading the charge towards a large fortification in the bridge’s center, Shamir had advance northwards with a small contingent of snipers towards a cluster of ballistae. 

Seteth watched from the skies as his allies advanced on two fronts, punching through the Imperial lines now that they’d recovered from the sudden appearance of Alliance reinforcements behind them. With that blonde noble gone, his troops broke ranks and fled, leaving the rear of the Church of Seiros free of enemies. 

Shamir dueled the Imperial archers for control of the ballistae placements, freeing Cyril to lead his wyvern corps towards the Imperial general’s position as her mount rose to meet his challenge. 

“I will be known far and wide as the legendary Ferdinand of Adrestia!” a contingent of Imperial cavalry thundered towards Shamir, a certain noble with a flowing mane of orange hair at their head. 

“Shamir! Look out!” Seteth shouted, looking back at the pegasus contingent hovering in formation around him. “With me!” 

They spurred their mounts into steep dives towards the cavalry, but Seteth saw that his warning had been unneeded: the snipers were already pelting the onrushing force with arrows. Horses screamed and tumbled to the hard stones as steel-tipped shafts sprouted from their bodies, their riders yelling as their bodies were thrown from their mounts. Ferdinand weaved back and forth to avoid the worst of the arrow barrage, catching several of them on a thick silver shield adorning his left arm. 

Byleth had trained him a little too well, it would seem. 

Wind whipped Seteth’s face as his wyvern closed in on the onrushing force, the emergence of more cavalry behind the Imperial lines catching his attention. 

“Ferdinand! I am here to lend aid!” Lorenz Gloucester was riding at their head, Seteth’s heart sinking as he recognized the Alliance colors decorating the new force. 

Count Gloucester’s son... this was not desirable. If Lorenz was killed, the Count might not be amenable to joining forces with Claude and reunifying the Alliance. Seteth clutched his lance tighter in his hand and squinted through the howling wind as Ferdinand’s remaining cavalry clustered together to weather the arrow storm. 

The clash was nearly upon them, and Seteth made his mount bank as the bridge shot closer and closer with alarming speed. 

“Target the reinforcements!” he shouted at his soldiers, who shouted their acknowledgement. “Leave their leader alive!” 

He sent a silent thanks to Sothis that Shamir had already dispatched the Imperial archers, leaving the skies open. 

“Seteth! You will face a true noble!” Lorenz shouted from his position, not flinching even when the knight next to him pitched from his saddle with an arrow in his throat. 

Laces were lowered by the Alliance cavalry as they bunched together to better weather the aerial charge, presenting a bristling wall of iron. Seteth tapped the sides of his wyvern’s neck with his heels, the beast roaring and opening its mouth wide in response. 

A ball of flames erupted from its fanged maw, Lorenz hurriedly shouting for his men to disperse before galloping out of the projectile’s path. It exploded in their ranks, men and horses screaming in agony as flames licked their bodies and sent them reeling. 

Seteth pounced on Lorenz, his wyvern’s claws seizing the noble’s arms and yanking him off of his horse. He urged his mount upwards towards the high walls of the bridge’s fortification, Lorenz screaming and grabbing at the claws keeping him from plummeting to his death. 

“Unhand me at once! This is not treatment befitting a nobleman!” fear had taken ahold, it would seem, but Seteth glanced down to see how the battle was faring. 

Ferdinand’s cavalry had been decimated, arrows protruding from their corpses as their dismounted leader lunged at Shamir, his lance gleaming. The sniper backed off, pulling back an arrow and loosing it almost point-blank range. Ferdinand dodged with inhuman speed, the razor-sharp arrowhead just barely scraping his lifted shield. 

The noble lunged, his lance a silver blur as he thrust at Shamir’s chest. Shamir was almost fluid as she slipped through the attacks, her snipers trying to line up shots on Ferdinand that wouldn’t send their shafts into Shamir. 

He kept close to Shamir, his attacks never ceasing even as one of the Church snipers stepped forward to grab him. Ferdinand ducked out of the sniper’s grasp and seized the man, pulling him in front of his own body just as Shamir stepped back to allow her allies an opening. Steel-tipped shafts thudded into the sniper shield, making an agonized scream spill from his lips. 

Ferdinand threw his meat shield aside and lunged at Shamir again, clearly recognizing that she was the greatest threat present. Shamir cartwheeled to the side to avoid his sweeping lance, her lithe fingers snapping a throwing knife at him in the same motion. 

The serrated blade caught the top of Ferdinand’s lance arm, making him jolt and his assault cease for just a heartbeat, but he was already dodging another arrow fired at his back. The noble threw his lance at one of the other snipers, catching the Knight of Seiros in the chest and slamming him into the wall. 

“Hey!” one sniper drew a short sword meant for defense and lunged, but Ferdinand pulled a short-handled throwing axe from his waist and carved into his assailant’s throat. 

The noble dashed towards Shamir again, an arrow shooting just inches above his head and turning his attention back to the seven snipers trying to avoid hitting each other. One sniper dashed forward, jabbing out with an arrow like it was a dagger, only for Ferdinand to slam his axe into the Knight’s head and drop her with a disgusting crunch. 

He grabbed an arrow and hurled it at one of his foes, already diving to avoid another missile before rolling and slamming his shoulder into another sniper. Ferdinand threw his axe at a sniper drawing a bead on his back while grabbing his lance and yanking it free before thrusting its bloody head into the sniper he’d barreled into. 

Shamir finally managed to line up a shot and took it, her arrow slamming into Ferdinand’s calf and making him fall to a knee with a pained cry. Her remaining three snipers opened fire, their arrows sprouting from Ferdinand’s back and waist and nearly slamming him onto the ground with the force of the impacts. Shamir strode carefully closer to him, warily skirting around so she could see him face-to-face. 

“I am... Ferdinand... von Aegir...” the man rasped, feebly thrusting out at Shamir with his lance while her snipers looked at each other in concern and confusion. 

“I guess you tried, but this is the end of the line for you,” Shamir strode forward and pulled one of her broad-bladed hunting knives from its scabbard, batting Ferdinand’s lance from his hand when he tried to jab at her again. 

Steel gleamed, Ferdinand’s chest heaving as his arrow-punctured body dripped blood. “I... I wasn’t... enough... I failed... Professor...” 

Shamir’s blade plunged into his heart, Ferdinand’s breath escaping in a sigh as his body slumped to the knees before falling onto his side. He didn’t move again, lying prone alongside the snipers he’d killed, even the ones he’d thrown an arrow and axe at. 

Seteth exhaled slowly, a bitter taste filling his mouth as the cost of war was again displayed before him. His pegasus knights had fallen upon the remnants of Lorenz’s corps, darting around and among them while men dropped each time a lance flashed and flesh opened up. 

“Ferdinand...” Lorenz was now holding tightly to the claws holding him aloft, perhaps recovering from the initial wave of fear. “Will... will you at least give him a burial befitting a noble?” 

“Yes, we will,” Seteth looked at the main bridge, where Catherine and Alois had destroyed the Imperial’s Demonic Beast and crushed the remaining Imperial garrison. 

Cyril’s own wyvern roared as it ripped out the throat of the Imperial general’s wyvern, the stone-faced Almyran boy releasing an arrow point-blank into the woman’s throat. General and mount plummeted from the air, their bodies splashing down into the river Myrddin. 

Ladislava, the general had said her name was. Not that a name mattered to the dead, Seteth thought grimly. Imperial bodies littered the bridge, soaking the stones with their blood alongside the numerous white forms of the Church’s soldiers. 

Their losses hadn’t been as bad as Seteth had feared they’d be, but their numbers had effectively been halved. They’d hit the fortifications hard and fast, slamming through the Imperial defenses before they could recollect themselves and mount an organized resistance. 

“The bridge is ours,” Seteth murmured. “We’ll have to send word to Claude immediately if he’s to send a force to garrison it.” 

“You think my father will allow that?” Lorenz challenged from below, but his voice was trembling. 

“Once your borders are free from the threat of Imperial invasion, I think Count Gloucester will be more than amenable to working with us and Claude,” Seteth informed the captive noble. “Especially since we took great pains to spare you.” 

“You intend to use me as a bargaining chip,” Lorenz realized, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. 

“To an extent. For now, however, we will need to hold the bridge with what we have here before the Empire realizes they’ve lost it,” Seteth had left strict instructions for none of the garrison to be spared, lest they escape and alert other Imperial commanders before the Knights had secured the position. 

They wouldn’t last long if the full might of the Empire’s massive armies were brought to bear against them. 

“Now, Lorenz, will you behave or will I have to shackle you to a wall?” 

Hilda’s body was screaming for rest as she heaved Freikugel’s massive, disgustingly pulsating blade from the chest of a dying Almyran footsoldier. 

“Hold the line!” Holst’s voice boomed over the ring of steel and the screams of the wounded and dying. “Form up on me!” 

Hilda huffed and looked around as much as she could, scowling down at the tears in her dress. Fodlan’s Locket lay behind her, the ugly grey walls piercing the sky nothing akin to the beautiful piece of jewelry for which it was named. The ramparts were bristling with ballistae and archers, sending volley after volley after volley into the swarm of wyverns descending onto the fortress. 

Fodlan’s Locket was tucked into the mountains of Fodlan’s Throat, the fortress looming over a vast chasm with three bridges being the only thing connecting it to the ragged plains leading to Almyra. The fortress and its three bridges were shaped like an E, with Hilda being positioned on the lowest rung of said E while Holst held off the bulk of the Almyran army in the middle rung. The uppermost bridge, the top of the E, had been withdrawn to funnel the Almyran forces towards the middle, pelting them with arrows and ballista bolts when the wyvern raids slackened. 

They just kept coming and coming, no matter how many times the shields of House Goneril had broken their charges. Honestly, this was just too much work! Why did they have to invade now?! 

“Lady Hilda!” a yellow-clad scout was dashing up to her, his face red with exertion. “Lord Holst is requesting your aid on the front lines!” 

“What? Can’t he hold it himself?” Hilda tried not to complain too much around the troops, but the words escaped her without meaning to. “I’m needed here!” 

The Almyran assault had slackened down here, at least, but Hilda could already see more of them approaching the defensive line. 

“Lord Holst is about to be overrun!” the scout’s words made her heart skip a beat. “We need the strength of your Relic, my lady!” 

This was no time to hold back. 

“Go, Lady Hilda!” the knights she’d been leading bashed their shields together, but their heavy wheezing echoed from their helmets. “We can hold the line!” 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can!” Hilda promised, sprinting up the solid rope bridge into the Locket’s main fortifications. 

The interior of the fortress was filled with soldiers frantically dashing about, carrying everything from armor and weapons to arrows and bolts to replenish the archer battalions. Hilda wove through the chaos, her heart lurching at the sight of wounded soldiers screaming in pain while healers desperately tried to close up their injuries. 

What was even the point of all of this pain and suffering? Why did the Almyrans have to keep doing this? 

The sound of battle filled the halls, the stench of fear and blood making Hilda sick to her stomach as she entered the middle rung of the Locket. The courtyard was filled with archers and mages releasing hails of missiles through the entrance and onto the heavy-duty bridge, where two armies were locked in a brutal shoving match, weapons rising and falling alongside shredded and bleeding bodies. 

Her brother was in the thick of it, his own pink hair a reflection of Hilda’s and a beacon among the armor and shining weapons. His axe was shearing through every foolish Almyran in reach, his thick plate and heavy shield protecting him from the enemy almost surrounding him. 

There were way too many: Goneril’s forces were being slowly but steadily pushed back. 

Hilda swallowed her hesitation, her muscles trembling as she tightened her grip on her Relic. The weapon resonated with the Crest in her blood, filling her with the strength to continue, but before she could charge into the fray, another scout dashed forward from the direction of Fodlan. 

“Lady Hilda!” he saw her and sprinted forward, gasping for breath. “There’s an unknown army approaching the Locket from behind!” 

Unknown army? 

“Are they reinforcements from the Alliance?” she asked. “We already sent to Derdriu for help, right?” 

“I don’t think they’re reinforcements, my lady,” the scout glanced over his shoulder fearfully, as if that army had been right on his heels. “They were flying banners I’d never seen before! I don’t even know where they came from!” 

“My lord! My lady! There’s an army coming up from the pass! I don’t know if they’re enemies or allies!” another voice screamed. “They’re right on top of us!” 

Dark forms emerged on top of the cliffs and filled the pass, many wearing horned helmets that jutted over their lines as they continued swarming forward. Most were wearing fur and leather armor that did little to cover their muscular bodies, hide helmets covering their heads, while others wore the armor of Warriors, their cloaks flowing behind them. 

They wore dark grey and scarlet, banners depicting a Crest Hilda swore she recognized fluttering in the hands of the ones carrying them. It was so familiar, yet she couldn’t place it for the life of her! 

“Are they reinforcements?” someone wondered, Holst’s bellow turning Hila’s blood into ice. 

House Goneril’s lines collapsed. 

The Almyrans, sensing victory, roared and surged madly forward, their battle cries echoing through the valley. 

“Brother!” Hilda could see Holst struggling to stand, desperately fending off a dozen Almyrans while they tried to get into the gaps in his armor with their weapons. 

A dark blur shot past her, making her jolt and ready her axe, then another went by and another. It took her a moment to realize that those blurs whipping past her were the soldiers from the pass and cliffs, charging and leaping down before shoving their way through the confused Goneril troops. 

A few of the startled knights took a swing at the unknown soldiers, but they ignored it and moved on. Wyverns flew overhead, causing alarmed shouts to rise from the Goneril defenders. 

Hilda’s head lifted skyward, expecting to find the Almyran aerial corps diving towards her, but these grey wyverns were soaring in from the pass behind the Locket. Hope warmed her breast, awed cries echoing from the Goneril knights as these ashen-colored wyverns cleared the wall and descended on the Almyran fliers in a storm of claws, fangs, and flashing steel. 

At the same time, the forces flooding into the Locket continued streaming past Hilda in waves, crashing onto the bridge and plowing into the Almyrans that had been about to crush Holst. 

“Brother!” the awe wore off and Hilda dashed forward, sticking to the edge of the reinforcements as she desperately sought her brother’s mien among the chaos. 

“Hilda!” Holst’s voice made her whirl to see her brother being dragged back to safety by a couple knights, his heavy armor sporting scores of new dents and gashes. 

His chiseled face was scratched and bruised, his well-groomed mustache stained red and one eye almost swollen shut, but he was alive. 

“Who are these people?” Hilda looked out at the battle, stunned to find that the reinforcements had shoved the Almyrans right off the bridge and were mercilessly running them down, swords and axes and lances gleaming silver lines that no invader could hope to cross. “Did you call them? They’re incredible!” 

“I don’t know who they are,” Holst was looking up at the aerial battle, where Almyran wyverns were dropping like flies as the startled fliers tried desperately to recover from the shock of the reinforcement’s sudden appearance. “I thought you’d called them, my wonderful sister.” 

The voices of the Goneril knights lifted in a raucous cheer as more and more reinforcements flooded into and then out of the Locket, branching out to engage the other wings of the Almyran army while those grey wyverns shredded everything in their path. 

“Goodness! This is so much more than I ever thought we’d get!” Hilda gasped, a strange prickling in her scalp making her lift her head skyward, towards the battle. 

A tall figure wearing imposing black scale armor with a cape was riding a wyvern into battle, holding onto the knight guiding the creature while slowly circling over the violence. His head was covered by a cowl, masking his features while somehow not being blown off. 

“Lord Holst! The right flank is collapsing!” a knight from the bridge Hilda had left behind was limping towards the middle battalions, his breastplate bearing a hole from a lance. “The Almyrans are pushing us hard!” 

Holst swore, tried to move, but Hilda gave him a stink eye. 

“You stay here! I’ll go!” part of her was hoping that these reinforcements could be cajoled into going for her, but she had a responsibility... unfortunately. 

“Hilda...” Holst’s eye gleamed while the swollen one just looked slightly wetter. “I am so proud of you, my marvelous sister.” 

Hilda winked and hefted Friekugel onto her shoulder. “Thanks, brother! I’ll be back!” 

She ran back towards her old post, shoving her way through the soldiers while cursing her decision more with each step. Surely someone else could do this? 

Hilda made it to the lowest bridge and found a small horde of Almyran soldiers trying to force their way into the fort, screaming with wild abandon as their weapons slammed into the Goneril defenders who were keeping their heavily damaged shields locked together just to survive. 

“Hold on! I’m coming!” she yelled, trying to think of a way to slip in a compliment to bolster their morale when the disgusting sound of metal and bone crunching drew an icy shiver up her spine. 

One of the knights screamed in agony and pitched backwards, his helmet (and likely his skull) completely crushed by the heavy, spike-studded steel head of an Almyran mace. The huge battle-scarred brute with the armor-crushing weapon laughed cruelly while his companions flanked him, pushing through the Goneril line to widen it with their bone-shattering hammers. 

Hilda readied Friekugel, hot rage burning through her veins as the huge Almyran smashed another knight with his mace before shooting her a vicious grin. 

“You’re next, brat!” he declared, his armored plating stained scarlet as he took his weapon into both hands. 

“They’re in the walls! Rally to Lady Hilda!” someone shouted behind Hilda, the rattling footfalls of dozens of knights shaking the Locket’s floors. 

A scream came from the Almyran side of the bridge, followed by a wyvern’s screeching roar. The huge Almyran looked over his shoulder at his companions only to be grabbed by an ashen grey beast’s mouth filled with white daggers. 

The wyvern yanked the brute out of the fortress and hurled him off the bridge, sending him screaming into the deep chasm between the Locket and the border. Hilda dashed forward to see that the hooded man from before was leaping off of his mount, unsheathing a gleaming silver sword from his waist before crouching to pick up a fallen knight’s own steel blade. The wyvern screeched and took off into the sky, slamming another Almyran with its tail for good measure before returning to the aerial battle. 

The stranger’s black cape billowed behind him, a golden version of the Crest on his banners emblazoned upon its surface. 

“I’ll hold this. Stay back,” his voice was deep yet melodious at the same time, almost as if something was being used to modify it. 

“You dastard!” the Almyrans who’d survived the wyvern stormed towards him, making the sturdy wooden bridge rattle and shake. 

The stranger held his two swords up and out, away from his body, then exploded into action the second an Almyran thrust his spear forward. He parried the attack with one sword while thrusting the second into his attacker’s throat, kicking him off the bridge with his foot in the same heartbeat. A second Almyran tried to slip under his guard with a blade, but the stranger trapped the warrior’s weapon in between his own body and left arm, lifting his silver sword and bashing the heavy pommel against his enemy’s head. 

The Almyran dropped his sword, letting it pitch into the abyss, and the stranger slammed both of his swords into the invader’s chest before throwing him at his fellows. The others dodged the body and lunged, only to be cut down by the gleaming lines of those two swords. A Grappler tried to ram the spike on his shoulder plate into the stranger, but he ducked and slammed a knee into the Almyran’s gut, forcing the air from his lungs. While the Grappler was gasping, trying to recover, the stranger slammed a knee into him again to throw him off the bridge. 

An expert swordsman and a hand-to-hand specialist? Hilda would have swooned if she had been so inclined, or if her body hadn’t been charged with Friekugel and the adrenaline coursing through her veins. 

A dozen or more Almyrans fell to the stranger’s combat prowess before they finally began trying to urge their archers forward, only for a swarm of grey wyverns to descend upon the invaders, shredding everyone in the vicinity while snapping at the heels of the fleeing survivors. 

The stranger sighed and tossed his borrowed steel sword back into the fort, letting metal clang against stone, then slipped his own silver blade into a scabbard hanging from his waist. 

“Who are you?” Hilda asked, right as cheers began to echo in the mountain ranges of Fodlan’s Throat. 

“The Almyrans are pulling back!” 

“Look at those dogs run!” 

A few ballistae fired for good measure and some bows twanged as archers took potshots at the fleeing invaders, but Hilda didn’t know if they hit anything. 

“My troops performed well, but this was against an enemy who wasn’t prepared for a sudden surge of reinforcements of this caliber,” the stranger was murmuring, something about his musings seeming awfully familiar. “We caught them off guard and routed them because they’d overextended and suffered for it, their arrogance opening too many gaps in their lines.” 

And then there was that Crest... Goddess, it was just at the tip of her tongue! What was it?! 

The stranger whistled sharply, the wyvern from before landing heavily on the parapets next to him before lifting its wings with a victorious roar. He mounted the beast, keeping his back to Hilda as he did so. 

“I will keep some soldiers nearby in case the Almyrans try another assault, but I don’t think they’ll be too keen on returning anytime soon,” the stranger said, although it took Hilda a moment to realize he was talking to her. 

“You were so impressive!” heaping praise on someone else was second nature to her at this point, but this guy definitely deserved it. “That was some of the most incredible fighting I’ve ever seen!” 

The hood nodded, but he didn’t turn or take it off. 

Hilda frowned to herself but placed a big smile on her face, determination to unmask this stranger burning through her veins. “May I see the face of my wonderful, gallant rescuer?” 

He actually chuckled at that, the sound again so irritatingly familiar yet just out of reach! 

“Nice try, Hilda Valentine Goneril,” he chided. “I wish you luck in your future endeavors.” 

She stared, all words escaping her as the wyvern kicked off into the air, taking the stranger who somehow knew her entire name with it. 

“Hey! I wanted to talk to you some more!” she called after him, not wanting to say that she’d also wanted him there to deflect the praise that Holst would undoubtedly pour upon her the moment they were reunited. 

Damn it. 

“Your Majesty?” Hubert’s voice outside of her door snapped Edelgard back to reality, the paint-stained brush in her hand nearly slipping from her fingers. “I have a couple reports I need to share with you.” 

Her heart leaped into her throat and Edelgard hurriedly placed the still-wet brush down before dashing out of her bedroom and into her suite, slamming the door shut behind her. 

“Hubert, you may enter,” she called, fighting to collect herself as she once again donned the visage of the Emperor of Adrestia, the molten core of her heart smoldering within her breast; not with adoration, not anymore, but with rage. 

Her grand double doors were pried open by the guards standing outside, allowing the dark form of her closest friend and vassal entry to the grand suite of the Emperor, although the rooms were practically a small house. 

“Your Majesty,” Hubert bowed low, his face troubled as the doors ground shut behind him. 

“What’s going on, Hubert?” Edelgard would have motioned for both of them to take a seat on one of the lavish red couches, but she knew it was fruitless at this point. 

“I have two reports here: both from our border with the Alliance,” Hubert informed her. “The Knights of Seiros have attacked the Great Bridge of Myrddin and occupied it, routing our forces.” 

“The Great Bridge?” a sour taste filled Edelgard’s mouth and she chewed on the inside of her lip. “What of Ferdinand and Ladislava?” 

Hubert’s eyes darkened. “Dead, both of them. Thunder Catherine was ruthless in ripping apart the vanguard while a small army of Knights followed in her wake. Our... allies in the Alliance sent reinforcements to hold the bridge, but they were crushed.” 

The wretched taste of blood filled Edelgard’s mouth, her insides twisting into miserable knots. “Ferdinand... Was Lorenz among House Gloucester’s reinforcements?” 

“He was, but Seteth took him captive after Shamir and a battalion of snipers took apart our combined forces,” Hubert reported. 

“A smart move,” Edelgard sighed, shaking her head. “If Lorenz is kept alive, then Count Gloucester might be more amenable to joining forces with Claude and putting an end to the Alliance’s infighting.” 

“Especially if the Alliance sends an army to garrison the Great Bridge now that our own forces have been pushed out of it,” Hubert said, his eyes blazing with dark power. “We may be facing an attack soon, not to mention that strange army from the Kingdom trying to get through the Alliance.” 

“Any information on who’s leading that army?” Edelgard asked. “Cornelia has told me that Dimitri is dead, but these rogue soldiers are making it hard to believe that.” 

That filthy Agarthan had one job... and speaking of Agarthans, Edelgard hadn’t had any contact with her uncle for a couple days now, which was unusual. He was constantly hounding her at least once a day beforehand. It wasn’t like him to just drop communications like that. 

“None, Your Majesty, but that leads me to the second report: one of our scouts also on our border with the Alliance reported seeing an unusual army emerging from a forest on the same day as the Knights’ assault on the Bridge,” Hubert frowned, folding his arms before his chest. “These soldiers forded the river into Alliance territory and appeared to be heading towards Fodlan’s Throat.” 

“These soldiers appeared in Imperial territory and then entered the Alliance?” Edelgard frowned, her mind immediately going to the Agarthans and their slithering ilk. “Are they from the Ones Who Slither In The Dark?” 

“I don’t think so, Your Majesty,” Hubert shook his head. “This army was reported to be made mostly of heavy infantry and a wyvern corps along with some cavalry. But... these soldiers are said to be dressed in armor made a long time ago, of a type few in Fodlan use today.” 

“An army of ancient warriors?” Edelgard wondered. “What are those monsters up to now... You said this army was headed towards Fodlan’s Throat?” 

“Yes, Your Majesty. We’ve also received word that House Goneril had called for aid against a massive invading force from Almyra. It remains to be seen if this strange army is going to help them or doom them,” Hubert shrugged. 

Another knock sounded on the door, making Hubert pause and gather dark energy into his hands. 

“Your Majesty, there’s a scout here with a report from the Alliance,” Captain Camus called from outside. “Says you need to hear it.” 

Hubert extinguished his magic and opened the door when Edelgard nodded, a man in a scarlet hood and jerkin taking a knee before them. 

“Your Majesty, a report from our spies in the Alliance: an unknown army just routed an Almyran invasion force in Fodlan’s Locket! It’s flying banners of a Crest nobody recognizes and appears to be led by a gifted warrior.” 

A Crest nobody recognizes? But Hubert had his answer: this army went to save House Goneril, not destroy it. 

“Was anyone able to identify this gifted warrior?” Edelgard asked, keeping her tone strict and imperious as she looked down at the scout. 

“No, Your Majesty: they say he wore a cowl the entire time, making it impossible to identify him. After the Almyrans retreated across the border, the unknown army vanished into the southern forests near the Airmid river basin.” 

Right where they’d come from... it had to be the Agarthans, but why would they help House Goneril? 

“Is there anything else?” Edelgard demanded, a heavy sense of dread chilling her mind. 

“Yes, Your Majesty: House Gloucester and the other Alliance lords who’d declared loyalty to the Empire have reneged on their word and joined back together with House Riegan. They’re marching a large army towards the Great Bridge of Myrddin and seem to be making ready to invade our lands!” the scout kept his head bowed, so he missed the look of alarm that passed between Edelgard and Hubert. 

So quickly?! Claude must have been preparing for this for weeks... as if he’d already known what would happen. If the Alliance was going to invade, it would do so quickly, taking advantage of the temporary vacuum opened up by the destruction of the garrison at the Great Bridge in order to press into Imperial territory. 

“Has there been any news of the rogue Kingdom army?” Edelgard could hear the dissatisfaction in Hubert’s voice: he hated not knowing what was happening immediately after something had occurred. 

Things were moving too quickly for his spies to keep up, it would seem. 

“They are also making for the Great Bridge,” the scout answered. “It appears they plan to join up with the Alliance forces and join them in invading the Empire.” 

Gronder Field. They would have to pass through Gronder Field to get to Enbarr, and with much of the Imperial army stretched thin fighting the Kingdom’s holdouts or controlling her conquests, any Imperial counterattacks would have to come from the garrisons at Fort Merceus and Enbarr, itself. 

Edelgard almost smiled at the bitter irony: she would have to fight Claude and possibly Dimitri on the field in which the Battle of the Eagle and Lion had taken place, back when Byleth was still at her side. 

She looked at both Hubert and the scout. “Get the troops in the city ready to move to Gronder Field. We must meet the Alliance and Kingdom’s armies there if we are to prevent them from pushing too deeply into the Empire. Call on the garrison at Fort Merceus as well to provide soldiers.” 

She was taking a big risk, removing a large number of soldiers from Enbarr, but ultimately, she was the target of this attack. As Emperor, this war would likely die with her if she fell on the battlefield, so both the Kingdom and the Alliance had to be burning to kill her as soon as possible. Edelgard supposed she could remain in Enbarr and bolster her defenses, but that would allow the invading armies free reign to ravage Imperial lands and villages in their march to the capital. 

Fort Merceus would provide a perfect barrier to halt their progress, situated before Enbarr and quite realistically the city’s first line of defense, but if Dimitri was really leading the Kingdom army, then the fortress would quickly fall to his inhuman strength. Especially since the Death Knight was currently stationed at Arianrhod in the Kingdom, helping Cornelia tighten her grip on the region. 

No, she had to take to the field of battle herself, to meet this invasion before it could end her ambitions for good. 

“Yes, Your Majesty!” the scout hurried off. 

“I am not going to stay here, Hubert,” Edelgard cut him off before he could even speak. “If Claude and Dimitri are leading these armies, then I am the only one capable of standing against them at the moment. I need to fight, or else any army we send will be doomed.” 

“As you wish, Your Majesty, but I will be going with you,” Hubert said, his voice tight and stern. 

Almost reprimanding her. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she assured him, at which his defenses lowered slightly. “Go get our forces ready to move out.” 

“Yes, Your Majesty. I predict the invasion force should reach Gronder Field in under a week, given their size and how quickly they’re moving,” Hubert bowed. “We should be ready to meet them by then. I’ll be keeping our eyes open for this mystery army as well in case they also move against us.” 

“Please do. Dismissed,” Edelgard watched Hubert bow and slip out, the door closing behind him, then sighed to release all of the pent-up tension inside of her. 

This was a fine mess, indeed, but she doubted the Knights of Seiros would participate in the battle: taking the Great Bridge of Myrddin by themselves had to have exhausted them, save for maybe Catherine and a few of their more elite members. 

Edelgard had too much going through her mind, too many problems and endgames, so she strode back to her room and took shelter within it, gazing at the painting she’d been working on before this interruption. 

The face of her beloved Byleth stared back at her, his hair and eyes the gorgeous deep blue they’d been before he’d fused with Sothis. His lips were curled into that full smile that he only seemed to give her, and the pang of longing that wracked her heart made her eyes sting. 

Why? Why was it that whenever she tried to move on, to keep marching forward without the man who’d so utterly captured her heart, she just couldn’t extricate herself from this infernal web of affection? 

“It’s been five years, my beloved Byleth,” she told the painting, her cheeks flaming against her will as she examined the five other works she’d created during these past few weeks since the Millennium Festival. “Why can’t I make myself stop missing you? I should move on: I’m the Emperor, I’m expected to marry another and bear children to keep the Hresvelg line going, although I do not plan to keep that tradition around for much longer.” 

It had been her last hope of ever seeing him again. If Byleth hadn’t been at Garreg Mach at the day of the Millennium Festival, then there was no way he was alive. 

She’d painted the cityscape of Enbarr as it was seen from her window on one canvas, and she’d made another painting of the Goddess Tower in Garreg Mach, with two small figures on the cathedral grounds in front of it appearing to be dancing a waltz. Another painting was of Edelgard, herself, standing hand in hand with Byleth as they walked through a field, free of the worries of war. The fourth painting had been the Crest of Flames, but it was a bright sanguine red color and was surrounded by golden flames, the image coming to Edelgard in a dream and compelling her to put it to canvas. The last painting was of the Sword of the Creator and her own axe, Aymr, crossing over one another from where they had been thrust into the ground, the setting sun setting the skies ablaze behind them. 

She wasn’t as talented as Ignatz was, by far, but she had enough artistic ability to ensure that one could actually tell what it was she had painted. It had taken Edelgard forever to get this final piece, the one of Byleth’s smiling face, done to her satisfaction, no matter how vividly she’d pictured him in front of her. The painting with both of them in the field had been easy, since all she’d had to do was paint the two of them with their backs to the observer, but it was plain that the figures on the canvas were Edelgard von Hresvelg and Byleth Eisner. The one of the Goddess Tower had been easier: all she had to do was color the hair correctly and leave the clothing and features vague. 

“I am a fool,” Edelgard declared to nobody in particular as she continued gazing at her most recent work, at those eyes that always seemed to gleam with life and light whenever she saw them. 

She had to move on, to maybe give her heart to another one day, but part of her continued to rebel with that thought. That foolish, naïve part continued to cling to the pathetic dreams of a schoolgirl who’d fantasized of marrying her crush and starting a family with them, living together peacefully in a world they’d helped to free from the grasp of tyranny. 

“That dream will never come about,” Edelgard snapped at that infuriating, stubborn little part, despite how desperately she wanted that dream to come true. “Byleth is... he’s...” 

She couldn’t afford to waste any more time fighting with her feelings. With two, potentially three, hostile armies now gunning for her head, Edelgard needed to tear herself from her meaningless dreams and keep herself centered in reality. 

Yet her heart still burned for him, that smoldering reactor within her chest reminding her of what love had felt like even as it prepared to burn everyone who stood against her. Some days, when the horror of what was happening threatened to overwhelm her, Edelgard swore she could feel a gentler, more loving, warmth emerge to embrace her, to soothe this pain and suffering. 

Her eyes were drawn to the painting of the Crest of Flames, lingering on the golden inferno surrounding it. Why did it make her so uneasy? 

And what was this mystery Crest that adorned the banners of the unknown army that had aided House Goneril? It couldn’t have been the Agarthans: they wouldn’t waste manpower or energy on such pursuits unless they saw a way to benefit from it. 

There were far too many questions and not nearly enough answers, but Edelgard had the feeling that she would learn the truth behind these unusual circumstances soon enough. 

The only other question would be if she survived this oncoming battle. 

For now, however, she was content to gaze at the face of her beloved, even if it was just a painting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some people might be upset that Ferdinand died, but I tried to make him a badass, given that he was personally trained by Byleth and I've grown quite fond of him. Gronder Field, and the long-awaited reunion between Edelgard and Byleth, will be happening in the upcoming chapter. And, on another note, I don't think many of the students outside of Byleth's house would immediately recognize his Crest after not seeing it for five years, hence why I had Hilda note that it was familiar but she couldn't quite place it. I also wanted to make silver weaponry a little scarce in comparison to the game, where every bandit and their grandmother has silver weapons once you get to a high enough level, so only more elite units will be using silver; the others will have steel or iron.


	18. The Battle at Gronder Field (Edited Version 2.0)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone, I wanted to apologize first off for the rather crappy first attempt at making this chapter. It was rushed, made several characters act out of their norms and heavily veered off of the storyline I was attempting to write in my haste to get it out. Thank you guys for calling me out on it and for offering your thoughts and well-deserved criticisms on it, and thanks to you guys who liked the chapter regardless, I hope that you will like my revised version as well. I'm grateful that you were willing to make your thoughts known and to catch me in what was, admittedly, a rather horrendous first attempt. I'm actually embarrassed by it, to be frank, especially with Byleth's hypocrisy in chiding Nemesis for his near-genocide while being perfectly okay with murdering Macuil and Indech and doing the same thing. I also had Byleth say "El" like a million freaking times, to the point where I was looking at the paragraphs and saying "wtf was I thinking with this? Poor Dimitri and Claude, man".  
Anyway, thank you guys again: I really appreciate everyone who takes the time to read this story and to leave their comments, and I hope to keep making a story worth reading! Thanks for your patience, everyone!

The tension in the air was electric and suffocating, making it almost as thick as it had been the day before. The grey sky overhead was dreary and oppressive, a gentle rain of ash falling as fires from the skirmishes burned all over the looming battlefield, fighting the cold air sinking into the bones of the armies assembled upon Gronder Field. 

The golden banners of the Leicester Alliance were fluttering from in front of the base of the Oghma Mountains, across the river in the same place the Black Eagles had deployed for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion five years previously. 

The azure banners of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus flew in the eastern forests, a towering golden-haired lord in black armor with a blue cape at their head with a glowing Relic clutched in his hands. 

And in the west, tucked among the palisades of stakes and rows of fortifications, were the Imperial black and crimson banners, Edelgard standing tall at their head. 

A hawk screamed overhead in the thick, grey skies, and Edelgard lifted her hand to signal her troops. 

“Mages! Fire!” an officer shouted, a corps of black-clad magic users conjuring orbs of flames between their hands. 

Then the blazing projectiles soared skywards, streaking towards both enemy armies and exploding among their front ranks. Edelgard could hear the screams from here, hardening her heart as she strode forward to gaze at the familiar scenery. 

“Years ago, we fought here as classmates,” she murmured, wondering how many familiar faces would be on the earth by the time this battle ended. “But not today.” 

“Archers!” another officer bellowed. 

Gleaming arrowheads were aimed skyward, and Edelgard watched as her advance forces on the central hill finally set up their positions. Those poor souls would have to face the brunt of both armies before she could get reinforcements to support them. 

“Stay strong, Bernadetta,” she whispered. “I will not lose you like I did Ferdinand.” 

The Kingdom army released a roar and surged forward, the Alliance army following suit shortly after. 

“And so, we fight on.” 

Today, the fate of Fodlan would be decided. 

“Why did she do this to me?” Bernadetta wondered yet again as the Kingodm and Alliance armies continued to pound her position. “Why did Edelgard put me here?” 

Screams and ringing metal filled the air around her, setting every single one of her nerves on edge as the two heavy battalions that she commanded fought furiously to hold their ground. Heavy knights in black and red armor heaved against their attackers with desperate ferocity, even while the occasional spell or lucky blade slipped past their armor and added another Imperial body to the carpet of corpses blanketing the base of the hill. The ash was still falling, but it was a lot heavier than it had been before. 

Three times, she had seen the Alliance and Kingdom try to encircle her position from below, only to be met by Hubert and Petra’s vicious counterattacks. A cavalry charge had plowed into the Alliance’s flank and eased up the pressure on Bernadetta’s heavy battalions, but all she could see around her was blood, death, and the falling ash. 

Corpses of man and beast from all three nations lay heaped on the ground as the chaos continued, bent and broken alongside their weapons, and Bernadetta could see the river slowly turning red as more and more death was poured into its banks. People just kept fighting each other, kept dying to spells or steel. 

Her own lines were dwindling rapidly, far too quickly for comfort as Bernadetta swung her ballista back towards the Alliance army and fired yet again. The bolt, true to its aim, slammed into a Paladin who’d been trying to exhort his troops towards the central hill. As he plummeted from his saddle, a rain of arrows from the Kingdom pelted Bernadetta’s own archer corps. 

Men and women screamed and fell as their bodies were punctured by unforgiving steel and wood shafts, but many of the survivors coolly nocked arrows and returned fire, their faces ashen and grim. The dead lay where they’d fallen, the wounded screaming and begging for aid that would likely not be coming any time soon. 

Bernadetta was fighting just to keep her breathing normal and her tears inside as terror rampaged inside of her, little Bernie-bears running around inside of her head while screaming or crying and trying to hide. 

“Commander! Flee while you can!” one of the officers staggered up to her, bleeding from an arrow in his leg. “We’re about to be overrun!” 

“W-what?!” Bernadetta hated how pathetic her voice sounded, gripped by terror as she saw just how thin her defensive lines had become. 

Something caught her gaze as she moved it: a lone dark figure standing on the cliffs overlooking the battlefield, where Rhea and the rest of the Church officials had watched the mock battle five years ago. It moved, and the space beside it erupted into brilliant scarlet light. 

“A Relic? But whose?” Bernadetta gasped, the rising screams to her right snapping her attention back to the battle. 

Her lines had collapsed under the Kingdom’s onslaught, the azure troops now surging up the hill towards her position with a frenzy of wordless screams that made her very soul itch to run. 

“This is it,” she realized, her body now openly trembling as the Kingdom plowed into her helpless archers. “I’m going to die here. Oh, why did I have to die on this stupid hill and not in my room?!” 

Then the soldiers skidded to a halt, their charge grinding to a halt amidst shouting and pointing upwards. 

“Huh?” Bernadetta did the same, her eyes widening at the sight of a blazing red meteor hurtling towards the hill. 

Well, at least this will be painless, right? 

She braced herself to die, ready to be freed from this horrible, horrible world, and the strange-looking meteor slammed into the boards at her feet. 

Flames erupted from the impact, swallowing the Kingdom troops whole as the firestorm expanded, spiraling outwards with violence that nearly knocked Bernadetta from her feet while completely ignoring her. 

“W-what?” she stammered, almost dropping her bow at the stunning sight. 

Then a heavy form slammed into the ground in front of her, cracking wood and making mud fly as a gauntlet akin to a claw wrapped around the hilt of a weapon Bernadetta never thought she would see again, the golden Crest of Flames on the owner’s cape filling her heart with overwhelming joy. 

“PROFESSOR!” the scream ripped from her throat at the sight of the bright green shock of hair, the tears she’d been so desperately holding back now gushing from her eyes. 

Professor Byleth Eisner stood tall as he pulled the Sword of the Creator from where he’d thrown it, his black draconic armor glittering in the flames radiating from the glowing weapon as his green eyes came to rest on Bernadetta. 

“Hey, Bernie,” his voice was beautiful, she decided, not even caring that she was on a battlefield as she ran forward and threw her arms around his waist. “Careful! Don’t hurt yourself.” 

“Professor! Where have you been?” she wailed, the smell of iron and blood and the cold metal pressing against her cheek reminding her that this wasn’t a dream. 

“Kill them! Now!” a roared command snapped her back to reality, to the battle raging around her. 

The Kingdom troops that hadn’t become charred lumps were advancing back up the hill, screaming vengeance for their fallen brethren, and Bernadetta glimpsed her other line collapsing as the Alliance finally punched through and began their own advance up towards her. 

“Bernie, stay behind me,” Byleth ordered, pulling a pitch-black sword that looked exactly like the Sword of the Creator from his waist and holding both Relics out before him. “And stay on the ground. I don’t want to hit you.” 

Bernadetta threw herself onto the ground, making herself as flat as possible while her heart pounded in her chest, her mind still racing to comprehend just what was happening. 

The Professor had come back! And he was saving her! 

He was alive! 

The explosion on the central hill had drawn eyes from all over the battlefield, all three sides warily watching it to see what was going to happen next when they’d had a reprieve from murdering one another. 

Edelgard’s heart closed up tighter within her chest, a lump forming in her throat that she just couldn’t seem to get rid of as she fought to control her rage. 

“Bernadetta... not you too... I’m so sorry,” she whispered, the sorrow bubbling up inside of her jarring to a halt as the top of the hill suddenly began to shine with the blazing light of a Hero’s Relic. 

Who was it? Who had taken Bernadetta from her? 

Edelgard gripped Aymr tightly, gathering breath to order her reinforcements into battle beside her when a sight she’d never expected to see again made her heart and her very soul freeze inside of her. 

A line of crackling, swirling scarlet energy shot up into the sky, writhing like a serpent as its glow bathed the hill in red. 

“So, the Professor has returned,” Dimitri murmured, his lone eye taking in the spectacle before him even as the dead continued to scream at him, continued to plead for the head of the one responsible for murdering them. “It matters not: the dead will have their tribute, and the ghosts will be appeased.” 

He gestured with Areadbhar again, thrusting it at the fortified Imperial lines, and the next wave of Kingdom troops roared as they flooded forward. 

Edelgard... your head will be mine at long last. 

Claude watched the rising, writhing Relic that could only be the Sword of the Creator as dread filled into the pit of his stomach. “Well, Teach, you finally showed back up after five years, huh? Are you going to fight with the Empire now?” 

This was going to throw so many of his plans into disarray, and even he, the Master Tactician, couldn’t stop a stunned gasp from escaping his lips as a _ second _ serpentine blade extended into the ashen skies, writhing and dancing alongside its twin. 

“Two?!” Hubert spluttered, but Edelgard could scarcely hear him over the thundering of her heart within her chest. 

Byleth?! He was alive?! He was here?! 

Hope, something that she’d never expected to feel again, filled her chest, and Edelgard’s heart burst with joy as reality sucker-punched her across the cheek. 

“Forward! Forward!” she cried to the grey skies, lifting Aymr high. “Follow me!” 

Her soldiers roared, but Edelgard was already sprinting towards the central hill with all the speed her Crest-infused strength allowed. She plowed over corpses and fallen weapons alike, ignoring every obstacle that lay in her path. 

The two serpents descended, the crash echoing throughout the battlefield as Byleth’s weapons slammed into both the Alliance and Kingdom’s advancing armies. The tide of battle had just tipped inexorably into the Empire’s favor. 

Where was all this damn ash coming from? It was almost as thick as snow, the way it was falling. 

The Kingdom army’s next wave surged from the forest, blue banners flying as heavy infantry stampeded forward in a chorus of roars and clanking metal. Edelgard slowed her pace, her Supreme Armored Division forming up around her and holding their shields out to form a wall. She joined hers with them, her eyes tracing the onrushing flood of Kingdom soldiers. Petra’s lighter brigade formed up behind her, the foreign princess covered with dirt and blood. 

She could see the ash and grime-streaked faces and equipment among her enemies, the dirty weapons and armor: this was an army that had been scavenging and stealing just to survive for months, if not years. They were desperate, for sure, but also had to be exhausted. 

“Brace!” she ordered, readying her own shield to take the charge. 

“Someone’s coming from the hill!” 

Huh? Edelgard looked to her left, towards the central fortifications, and saw a black figure dashing towards the two groups with preturnatural speed. A Mortal Savant with a black demon’s mask and horned helmet, their lamellar armor gleaming like obsidian, closed the distance, an unusual yet familiar sword strapped to their waist. 

The Savant drew that sword, which immediately began crackling with scarlet energy and glowing red. 

“Catherine?” Edelgard frowned, surprise sparking through her mind as the Savant with the pitch-black Thunderbrand plunged into the Kingdom troops as they tried to halt their charge, its copied Relic slashing through the front lines. 

After several bodies hit the ground, the Kingdom troops peeled away in a full rout, but the Savant didn’t give chase. It stood and watched them retreat before turning back to Edelgard’s own lines. 

“Edelgard!” Petra’s voice made her glance back to where the Brigid princess was pointing at the hill. “Look!” 

She obeyed, ice filling her veins at the sight awaiting her: all over the battlefield that she could see, Hero’s Relics shone like fallen stars as their owners moved through the armies, tearing apart everyone in their path. They seemed to be trying to separate the armies, driving the battle lines apart with the power of their weapons. A massive wyvern and pegasus, accompanied by aerial battalions, tore into the Kingdom’s and the Empire’s own fliers, a glowing black hammer eerily resembling House Dominic’s Crusher bashing men and beasts out of the skies. 

Then something grabbed Edelgard’s feet, making her yelp and almost lop her own leg off. She looked down, alarm filling her mind as all the ash on the ground began to writhe as if it were alive, coalescing into a vaguely humanoid pile with a grey hand clutching her ankle. 

The ash pile grew and grew until it was a muscular warrior that stood just over Edelgard after releasing her ankle, his grey flesh and red barbarian-like armor unlike anything she’d ever seen before. 

“Unhand me!” she roared at the creature, alarmed to see that more and more warriors emerged from the ash blanketing the earth, weapons forming in their hands and making the Imperial advance skid to a halt. 

The axes of the knights at her side gouged the body in front of her, its mouth opening into a wordless cry as it disintegrated back into ash and crumpled. Five more emerged in front of the Imperial line, rising from the earth as if born from the soil, itself. 

Where the hell had they come from? 

The air shifted, and then a booming voice that Edelgard had never expected to hear again echoed through the battlefield. 

“Edelgard von Hresvelg, Claude von Riegan, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd: please hand your weapons to my soldiers and allow yourselves to be escorted to the central hill,” Byleth’s monotone voice commanded. “I swear on my life that you will not be harmed by me, but I will enact discipline if you try to fight each other.” 

“Enact discipline?” Edelgard repeated, shaking her head in disbelief. “We aren’t your students anymore... Byleth.” 

He was here, alive, and talking to them. He’d also claimed this unnatural ashen army as his own, their grey banners emblazoned with a scarlet Crest of Flames. The fourth army now reigned supreme over the skies, their numbers growing and growing until hundreds of barbarian soldiers separated the three armies. 

The ash and scarlet soldiers were silent as they shuffled into positions, trampling corpses beneath their feet and kicking discarded weapons away, but that Mortal Savant with Thunderbrand was striding towards Edelgard with its hand extended. 

She wanted to go, to see Byleth, to see with her own two eyes that he was alive, but her common sense warred with her heart. She would be up there, alone, with Claude and a crazed prince Dimitri who’d made it his life’s goal to kill her, while potentially being surrounded by hordes of these ashen soldiers. 

“You are already being targeted,” Byleth’s voice echoed again. “Please, come up before I have Lamine, Blaiddyd, or Gloucester fire on you.” 

Lamine? Blaiddyd? Gloucester? Were these Relic-bearers the Ten Elites of old? And what the hell did he mean by ‘targeted’? There was no way she was in range of- her fine hairs stood on end beneath her armor as lightning crackled through the air, tiny bolts flickering on the edges of her vision. 

Then a white-hot bolt of lightning streaked down from the grey skies, striking the knight standing right next to Edelgard with an earsplitting boom. The man dropped like a stone, his armor charred and smoking as his axe and shield hit the bloody earth. Elsewhere, a great arrow of blue light descended on the Kingdom lines while a meteor crashed upon the Alliance, lighting up the earth with thundering booms as faint screams reached Edelgard’s ringing ears. 

“Those were your last warnings. Please, come up,” Byleth ordered calmly, as if he was asking a student to enter his office. “The next spells will fall on you: Edelgard; Claude; Dimitri. Please hand Charon, Goneril, and Gautier your weapons.” 

The Mortal Savant stepped closer, its hand still extended, its demon mask unrelenting in its black painted smile. Charon, it was Charon, the Elite that Catherine was descended from. How the hells did Byleth get these people? Did it have anything to do with her uncle’s sudden silence? 

“Your Majesty, I highly advise against yielding to him,” Hubert whispered, his voice almost too loud in the leaden silence. “I can protect you from his spells.” 

Right as he finished speaking, Charon’s fist cracked against the side of the mage’s head, extending past the shield wall and sending him tumbling to the ground in a heap before the Elite backed off out of reach of the Imperial axes. 

“And now you can’t,” Edelgard sighed, looking up at the hill again, where Byleth was waiting for her. “So be it. I doubt I have any chance against Byleth and the Ten Elites.” 

“Your Majesty?!” her soldiers, predictably, protested, but she held Aymr out to Charon nonetheless. 

I’ll play your game for now, my teacher. 

The Savant swiftly disarmed her, easily hefting her heavy axe in one hand as it gestured behind it towards the hill completely cordoned off by Byleth’s army. Then it walked forward, and Edelgard handed her shield to a nearby knight before following with her head held high. 

The ashen army was eerily silent as they opened their ranks to allow her passage, their glowing red eyes following her every move. Her Crest burned hotter inside of her, though she wasn’t sure if it was because of her proximity to Byleth as her armored boots clicked against wood. 

Her heart pounded within her chest despite her efforts to control it, and Edelgard found herself clenching her fists tightly as she got closer and closer to the summit. She passed through the last ranks of the ashen army near the peak, where several of the soldiers were hauling bodies to the sides of the blood-slick hill. 

And then she was there, standing above all of Gronder Field while four armies watched her every move. 

Bernadetta was alive, standing next to the tall figure of Byleth Eisner and beaming at him before catching sight of Edelgard. 

“Edelgard! He’s alive! The Professor’s alive!” the girl squealed, her voice the only sound audible on the hill at the moment. 

The sounds of battle had dwindled, save for the agonized groans of the wounded and the crackling of flames, as if the entire world was holding its breath. 

Byleth’s bright green eyes and hair were unchanged, although his irises gleamed with golden flames as his gaze locked onto her, the impassive stone mask of his face softening. His armor was completely different, looking like what Nemesis had once worn the few times she’d seen him. 

“Edelgard?” his voice drifted on the wind, the sound of hoofbeats, clanking armor, and wingbeats snapping her attention to the figures gathering around him. 

Ten warriors were either standing or sitting on their mounts by Byleth, pitch-black Hero’s Relics held in their grasps, and Edelgard belatedly realized that Byleth was carrying a copy of the Sword of the Creator in his left hand. 

The Ten Elites. The burning from her Crest of Flames was almost overpowering, making even her smoldering heart feel dim in comparison. 

“Byleth?” her voice was a croak that immediately embarrassed her. “Is that... really you?” 

Her gaze refused to leave him, refused to give her a moment to doubt whether this was real. 

“It’s me, El,” his voice filled her, gripped her heart and almost made her surge forward towards him. 

The Dark Knight in black, spike-covered armor urged his monstrous-looking horse forward, agitation clear on his features as he pointed a pitch-black version of Dimitri’s Areadbhar at the Kingdom lines. 

“I know you’re worried about Dimitri, Blaiddyd, but with all of us here, we should be able to hold him back, if necessary” Byleth nodded to the warrior. 

So, this was one of the Elites who’d fired on the armies, and he bore Dimitri’s ancestry. It made sense: the man and his horse were massive! 

A War Master with a pulsating black version of House Goneril’s Freikugel in his hands tapped the butt of his Relic against the ground, a frown on his lips as he held onto Claude’s Failnaught. 

“I know, Goneril, but we have no choice,” Byleth sighed. “If we’re to stop this battle from getting any worse, we’ll have to talk to all three of them, regardless of how unhinged Dimitri has become.” 

She couldn’t hear them, maybe because she needed to be in contact with Byleth to do so, like with Nemesis and Sothis from five years ago? 

Charon took up position next to Byleth, setting Aymr against one of the remaining ballistae before folding their arms. 

“Ah, thank you, Charon,” Byleth frowned at the Crest weapon Edelgard had made for herself. “I don’t think this is one of the Relics the Agarthans made...” 

“It isn’t: I had this made shortly after the war began,” Edelgard could feel heat prickling the backs of her eyes. “Byleth... where were you? I looked for you for over a year and yet...” 

“I don’t know, to be honest,” his face fell, the pain and confusion in his eyes making cracks go through his ashen mask. “I only woke up last month after someone pulled me out of a river.” 

“Last month? Did you wake up on the day of the Millennium Festival?” Edelgard asked, her heart sinking as he nodded. 

Byleth reversed his grip on his swords, holding them upside down, then jammed their blades into the ground before glancing at Bernadetta. “Bernie, you should retreat to the Imperial lines. My soldiers won’t harm you.” 

Soldiers... right, those creatures emerging from the ash that had been falling on the battlefield. Where had they come from? And what had happened with Nemesis? 

Bernadetta looked like she wanted to refuse, to stay, but a stern look from Byleth had her scurrying away down the hill towards Petra and the unconscious Hubert, the princess not looking pleased about being forced to leave Edelgard alone. 

Edelgard took a step forward, her lips parting to speak. Byleth started to walk forward as if to meet her, but the emergence of a new face made them both pause. 

“Hey, Teach! Long time no see!” Claude was putting on an impressive air of confidence and nonchalance despite the slight tremor in his voice and the unease in his green eyes as they widened at the sight of the Elites. “So, this was the army that Hilda has been talking my ears off about, huh. Are those the Ten Elites? And they have their own Relics? What have you been up to, Teach?” 

His gaze lingered on the Bow Knight carrying the copied version of the Failnaught, but the Elite ignored him. 

“Yes, they are,” Byleth answered. “It’s good to see you again, Claude, I only wish the circumstances were better.” 

“Likewise. So, what exactly are we going to do? I have a lot of questions and you have the answers, I hope.” 

“Edelgard,” a cold, mirthless voice made chills go up her spine, turning to find Dimitri striding towards her while a massive Great Knight carried both a black Lance of Ruin and Areadbhar. “At long last, you are in my grasp.” 

“Dimitri,” Edelgard answered, meeting his icy, one-eyed glare with her own. 

“I will let you choose how you die, monster. Will it be a blade in your chest, a broken neck, or shall I tear your head from your shoulders?” Dimitri asked, a sick mirth twisting his lips into a gnarled smirk. 

“I don’t plan on dying today, and especially not to you,” Edelgard retorted, pushing past the icy fear that sent every single one of her nerves on edge as Dimitri laughed an empty, humorless laugh. 

“Death is not the end, not to suffering or regret. I will free them from that pain, no matter what it costs,” the mad prince declared. “The dead require your head, and that is what I will grant them.” 

“That’s fascinating, Dimitri, but all three of us are utterly at Teach’s mercy,” Claude reminded him, his green eyes darting back and forth at the dozen Relics radiating enough power to make Edelgard’s skin itch. “And Edelgard, here, is probably still his favorite.” 

Dimitri’s gaze went from Edelgard to Byleth, his mouth tightening into a thin line. “Why did you choose her, Professor? If you wanted something to rut on, then surely any other creature would suffice.” 

Edelgard just barely managed to keep her face from coloring at his remark, her fists tightening to the point where her hands were screaming in agony. 

“Edelgard and I have not... rutted on each other, Dimitri,” Byleth intoned, his face a stony mask that even she couldn’t read. 

“The beast requires a more refined monster, is that so?” Dimitri continued, his mirthless smile still curving his lips. “Or is it a different kind of flesh you crave?” 

“Dimitri, do try to remember that we’re surrounded by legendary warriors of eld, with creepy black Relics all taking aim at us,” Claude muttered, his gaze darting to the trio’s own Relics. 

“Why did you call us here, Professor?” Edelgard interrupted the other two, her senses screaming another warning as all eyes fell on her. “You took great pains to separate our armies and bring us here.” 

“I didn’t want to watch my students kill each other,” Byleth answered, his gaze lingering on Edelgard before it swept over the three leaders. “You’ve all grown so much these past five years...” 

“We’ve been at war for those five years, thanks to Her Majesty over there,” Claude said with a sardonic tone that made Edelgard glare at him. “Where have you been these past five years, Teach? Everyone thought you were dead after Rhea threw you off the monastery.” 

“I don’t know, to be honest,” Byleth repeated his words to Edelgard. “I only woke up the day of the Millennium Festival last month, after a villager apparently found me floating down the river.” 

“I don’t know how you survived that fall, let alone these past five years under all that rubble, but there’s more important things to worry about,” Claude shook his head. 

“What do you want, Professor? I have people I need to save from their suffering, their regrets,” Dimitri folded his powerful arms before his chest, the rabid hunger shining in his eyes as he looked at Edelgard making her battle instincts scream to defend herself. 

“Still thinking on saving people, are you?” Byleth noted, earning an exasperated look from the mad prince. “You were always a sympathetic soul, Dimitri, caring more about other people than yourself.” 

“And now he’s a rabid beast who roams the countryside, mauling everyone in his path,” Edelgard spat, earning a vicious smile from said beast. 

“We are all beasts in human flesh here, monster. We’ve all piled up corpses and bathed ourselves in their blood, especially you,” Dimitri almost purred. “Your head is mine and no one else’s, Edelgard, don’t forget that. I am only here because I wish to honor the professor’s request before I kill his favorite student.” 

“No one is killing anyone else,” Byleth said sternly, using a voice he’d oft chastised misbehaving students with. “Not while I’m here.” 

Dimitri laughed coldly, giving the professor a crooked smirk. “Says the one who left his doorstep covered in the corpses of two armies and used his minions to force us up here.” 

“Say, Teach, have you seen Marianne anywhere?” Claude almost shouted the words, making Edelgard and Dimitri look at him. 

“Marianne? She isn’t here or in Edmund territory?” Byleth frowned. 

Ah, that shy girl who really liked horses. The one with the unidentifiable Crest that Linhardt had been obsessing about before the war. 

“No. I heard she got a visit from some Crest scholar and that she vanished shortly after,” Claude shook his head, his frown going even deeper. “I was hoping you’d seen her or something when you were chasing us to Gronder Field from Fodlan’s Throat.” 

“Crest Scholar? I thought nobody knew what her Crest was?” Byleth shared a look with his Elites as if having a silent conversation with them. 

The Gremory with an elaborate jewel on her neck nodded, making Byleth’s lips tighten. 

“We don’t, but this guy had apparently been hounding House Edmund to see her, saying something about a monster dragging people into the forest to eat them,” Claude explained. “Margrave Edmund assured me Marianne was fine, but I’m not really sure I trust him. I would have looked into the matter further, but this took precedence over that.” 

“Did they say which forest?” Byleth asked, concern glittering in his eyes along with realization. 

“Someplace called the Dark Forest in Edmund territory,” Claude answered. “Why? Does that place sound familiar to you, Teach?” 

“To an extent, yes, but if this is who I think it is...” 

Come to think of it, hadn’t they discovered that there had been an Eleventh Elite five years ago? What had his name been, Maurice? Did Marianne have his Crest? 

“Does it really matter what beast is what?” Dimitri asked, boredom in his voice as his glare again settled on Edelgard. “It kills and feasts just like the rest of us.” 

“You’re going to make me lose the extravagant lunch I’d had before this battle, Dimitri,” Claude muttered at Byleth’s side, notably sticking closer to him than Edelgard or Dimitri. “Cheese and dried fruit don’t stay down easily, you know.” 

Edelgard sighed through her nose, the subtle expression of her annoyance missed by everyone but those golden-green eyes of her former (current?) flame. 

“I have one question for all three of you,” that granite mask slipping back onto Byleth’s face made Edelgard steel her spine and school her own expression into the Emperor of Adrestia. 

“Where. Is. Seiros?” 

Her heart lurched, confusion settling onto Claude’s face as he put his hands on his waist. 

“Uh, Teach, I know you weren’t raised in the Church like most of Fodlan, but Seiros has been dead for almost a thousand years,” the Master Tactician pointed out. 

Oh, if only he knew. 

“My apologies: I should have used her current name, rather than her ancient one,” Byleth shook his head. “Where is Rhea?” 

Claude started. “Rhea is Seiros? Are you sure about that?” 

Byleth nodded. “She’s one of the children of the Goddess Sothis, and her kind have lifespans far beyond a regular mortal. As dragonkind, she and others like her have access to great power linked to their Crests.” 

“Dragonkind?!” Claude spluttered. “Whoa, whoa, are you saying that the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros is secretly a dragon?!” 

“Even the archbishop is a beast,” Dimitri commented with a hollow laugh. “Fascinating.” 

“Yes,” Byleth nodded. “She calls her dragon form The Immaculate One. Sothis was also a dragon, albeit a much older and much more powerful one more akin to a god.” 

“Are you serious?” Claude’s eyes were wide as he tried to digest this. “So, Rhea started a church and named it after herself? Do you have any proof, Teach? As trustworthy as I know you are, I can’t discount the threat that this isn’t some ploy to mess with us and help the Empire.” 

Edelgard just managed to keep an utterly not-Emperor like scoff from escaping her. “He’s telling the truth: The Empire was founded by Seiros to fight Nemesis and unite Fodlan, and the truth of her identity has been a closely guarded secret passed down from Emperor to Emperor.” 

“Well, if it was a secret passed down by the Empire...What about Nemesis?” Claude asked. “If Sothis was a dragon and Seiros her daughter, then what was the King of Liberation? And how are you connected to him?” 

“He was a king of a northern kingdom situated around where Faerghus is now, but a couple rogue dragons decimated his people,” Byleth explained. “Seeking revenge, Nemesis allied himself with an ancient race who’d opposed Sothis a long time ago, stole her remains, and used them and others to forge the Hero’s Relics.” 

“He sought to free his dead people from their suffering, just like I do. I will not fail like he did, however,” Dimitri was actually listening, not seeming to notice or care that the massive Blaiddyd had dismounted and was standing next to him. 

Both men were massive and broad-shouldered, their armor more akin to walls of steel. 

Claude’s eyes got even wider, his lips curving into a frown as he glanced at Failnaught. “You’re telling me the Relics are made of bones?” 

“The Crest Stones are dragon hearts,” Byleth added. “Nemesis used these weapons to wipe out the dragon settlement at Zanado, which gave it the nickname of the Red Canyon. Seiros was a survivor of that massacre.” 

“Geez, he massacred an entire civilization in the name of revenge... and the Elites?” Claude gestured at the warriors around him. “What are they?” 

“They were Nemesis’s lieutenants, given Relics and dragon blood to infuse them with Crests as rewards for their loyalty,” Byleth rested a hand on each of his own Relics, shaking his head. 

“So, Teach, what about Nemesis? How are you connected to him?” Claude asked. “And what’s with that garb?” 

“Nemesis was partially sealed by the Sword of the Creator when he died, that part of his soul being absorbed by the Crest Stone,” Byleth explained, his voice switching back to the monotonous tone he’d oft utilized for his lectures. “When I received the Sword of the Creator, that sealed part of Nemesis began to wake up.” 

“Wait, how could he wake up if there was no Crest Stone in the Sword?” Claude pointed out, and Edelgard could almost see the gears turning in his head. 

“Because... Rhea had implanted the Crest Stone of the Sword of the Creator in me,” Byleth held a hand over his chest, which began to glow with a miniature Crest of Flames. 

“What? Why?” Claude had seen it, too: his eyes were wide with surprise and curiosity. 

Dimitri just stood there in silence, observing and listening. At least his glare wasn’t burning into Edelgard’s head anymore, she mused. 

“As the sole surviving daughter of Sothis, Rhea wanted to bring her mother back to life, so she began implanting certain nuns of the Church with the Crest Stone in an attempt to create a perfect vessel,” Byleth continued. “Eventually, one such vessel met and fell in love with my father, Jeralt, and I was the result of that. As for why I have the Crest Stone: something went wrong when I was born and my mother and I both started dying. My mother... she begged Rhea to save me, and thus I was implanted with the Crest Stone.” 

“So, the Crest Stone, which is also apparently the Goddess’s heart, is in your chest? It’s like your heart, now?” Claude frowned thoughtfully, holding a hand to his head as if to contain the thoughts running about within. “That would also explain how you can use the Sword of the Creator without it having that Crest Stone, since said Stone is already inside of you. And if what you said about Nemesis is true, that means he was implanted in you too, right?” 

“Correct,” Byleth affirmed. “My blood and the Crest Stone allowed me to host the consciousness of both the King of Liberation and the Goddess Sothis in tandem. They fought several times and were quite the headache, if I’m being honest, which resulted in that incident at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion five years ago, along with the explosion in my old classroom.” 

Edelgard remembered both of those incidents quite well, the images of that scorched Crest of Flames seared into stone and grass flickering before her mind. She glanced over at Dimitri again, who was surprisingly remaining silent as his lone eye bored into Byleth. She’d expected him to start ranting and raving again, or just threaten her and any who’d follow her with a gruesome, painful death. 

“Yeah, I remember those. But you spoke with the Goddess, herself? You saw her and interacted with her?” Claude asked. “And Nemesis?” 

“Yes. Nemesis thought he was doing right by his people, even as his own rage drove him to murder countless innocents at Zanado,” Byleth shook his head slowly, golden flames flickering within his eyes. “It was him that attacked Rhea five years ago, after Edelgard had invaded the monastery.” 

“He wanted justice for the dead, to free them from their pain. Perhaps we would have gotten along with one another, the two of us” Dimitri mused, although there was something different about his voice. 

“Nemesis murdered innocent people in the name of revenge, Dimitri,” Byleth said coldly, his eyes hardening. “He showed me the destruction of Zanado, and made me watch as he murdered unarmed civilians while his soldiers speared children.” 

Was it just Edelgard, or was there some faint magical link between the prince and his Elite ancestor? 

And then she recalled those damn nightmares that continued to plague her... Byleth’s body joining all of her siblings and her father, all the other corpses that had now been piled across her path. Edelgard tried to swallow the lump that formed in her throat, found it tasting of the ash that was still sprinkling from the sky. 

Had Nemesis had nightmares, too? About Zanado? His destroyed kingdom? 

“An ancient king fueled by hatred and a Goddess who had been put into vessels in order to be revived... But that hardly answers anything,” Claude’s eyes hardened. “That battle five years ago in the Sealed Forest, before the Holy Tomb ritual and the Empire’s invasion, that’s when you were given the Goddess’s power, right?” 

Byleth nodded, glancing at Edelgard as the memories resurfaced for her as well. The darkness Solon had trapped them both in and the power of the blazing Sword of the Creator carving a path back to the world of the living. 

“Your appearance changed back then, and now you’ve changed again while somehow being able to lead an army that suspiciously matches the Church’s description of Nemesis’s Liberation Army along with his supposed lieutenants,” Claude continued. “Wherever you got this army, I take it you had to get power from Nemesis, first, right? Like you had done with the Goddess?” 

“You’ve got the right of it,” Byleth said with a nod. 

“And now that brings up the question of: where the heck did you get this army, the Ten Elites, and those black Relic things?” Claude asked next. 

Edelgard was starting to get tired of hearing him talk, but at least it was preferable to the chaotic din of warfare or the thunderous pounding of her pulse in her head. 

Dimitri was still, and Edelgard could tell with certainty that there was some sort of link forming between the two Blaiddyds. What the hell were they doing? Was Byleth aware of it? 

“Do you remember Solon and Kronya?” Byleth asked. 

“Tomas and Monica?” Claude frowned. “Or, rather, the people pretending to be Tomas and Monica? Yeah, I remember them.” 

He had a good memory, Edelgard mused, now curious as to how much he could figure out on his own. 

“They were part of a larger group of people known as the Agarthans,” Byleth had begun pacing between his two swords, which were still stuck into the ground. “These Agarthans had fought against Sothis and her children once before and had been banished underground after their defeat, where they planned revenge. I still don’t understand most of it, but they somehow managed to build a city with technology I’ve never seen before, where they worked on trying to revive Nemesis and his army in order to unleash them on Fodlan a second time.” 

“An underground city?” Claude repeated. “Where is it?” 

Edelgard wanted to know, too: she’d been trying to locate Shambala for years, now. 

“Close to the far eastern edge of the Airmid River, south of Goneril territory,” Byleth answered. 

“And close to the border with Almyra, which is how you managed to save Fodlan’s Locket and Hilda from being overrun so quickly. You’re going to have to show me this underground city someday if you really want me to believe you, Teach,” Claude realized. “Okay, so these Agarthan people wanted revenge against Sothis and, what, want to destroy everything related to her?” 

“You’re on the right track. They wanted to destroy the Church and wipe out the remnants of the Children of the Goddess, especially the vessel of Sothis that Rhea had created,” Byleth gestured to himself. “Since the Church had become the official religion of Fodlan, it meant that they would have to either destroy much of it or create enough chaos to make it destroy itself.” 

“Are you telling me that these Agarthans are responsible for shaping Fodlan like this?” Claude frowned. “For the Holy Kingdom and the Alliance? That seems to be a long shot, although... if they could change their appearances at will even back then...” 

“I don’t know how much of that were the Agarthans or the Church or anything else,” Byleth admitted. “But what I do know is that most of the Agarthan’s leadership has now been destroyed, and the survivors are likely still scattered about Fodlan, stirring up chaos.” 

Destroyed? Did that mean Thales was dead? That would explain his silence... Edelgard couldn’t help but relax ever-so-slightly now that the heavy weight of her uncle was lifted from her shoulders. 

“If that’s the case, how do we know who’s one of these people and who isn’t?” Claude asked, a thoughtful look on his face as the gears in his head continued churning. “Unless their personality was to suddenly change for no reason, like Monica’s... but then again, that Solon guy managed to impersonate Tomas perfectly for years.” 

“They might have knowledge or magic that they didn’t have before, or even strange devices,” Byleth explained. “When I was in their home, I had to fight this massive metal warrior or monster that even the Sword of the Creator could barely scratch. I think it was called a Titanus.” 

“Did you just say ‘massive metal warrior’?” Claude swallowed nervously. “How massive are we talking about, here?” 

“As big as a house, maybe?” Byleth frowned, a thoughtful look on his face. “I only defeated it because some other device the Agarthans had was shooting lightning at me, which I managed to aim at the Titanus.” 

“Fhirdiad,” Dimitri’s sullen voice made Edelgard jump, her heart spiking within her chest. “Rodrigue was saying something about Cornelia using giant metal beasts to crush resistance in the city.” 

“Uh, Teach, what’s going on with those two?” Claude asked, eyeing the shimmering, swirling magical energy tying the two Blaiddyds together, all of them jumping as the duo’s shared Crest flared brightly to life over their heads. 

“Blaiddyd is trying to take on some of Dimitri’s burden, so to speak,” Byleth said hesitantly, as if he was just getting the information from the Elite, himself. “He’s trying to stabilize Dimitri’s mind by meshing it with his own.” 

The prince’s lone eye was starting to glaze over, his body relaxing at the same time. 

Should she allow this, Edelgard wondered, glancing at her axe. If she could strike down both Claude and the vulnerable Dimitri, the Alliance and Kingdom would have to capitulate to her rule. The war could end here and now! 

Byleth shot her a hard, commanding look. _ ‘Don’t try it’ _, those smoldering eyes warned, Charon, Goneril, and Gautier clustering more tightly around the leaders’ Relics to quarantine them. 

Edelgard swallowed the lump in her throat and decided to abandon that plan, ignoring how that brief eye contact had made her Crest smolder so powerfully within her blood. 

“So, this Cornelia... did she recently start acting like a different person?” Byleth prompted Dimitri. 

“She did: some years before Duscur, Fhirdiad had been plagued with infrastructure failings that left the city wracked by disease. Cornelia helped solve those problems and transform Fhirdiad,” the prince said evenly, no trace of malice or rage in his voice. “Then, one day, her personality was said to have completely changed. She became crueler, more arrogant, which my father disapproved of, but he appointed her to a higher office because of all the good she’d done. It was Cornelia who’d ordered my execution after my uncle’s assassination.” 

“And if she had several of those Titanus creatures with her in Fhirdiad... then she has to be an Agarthan imposter,” Byleth frowned. “She must have been sent by the others to destabilize the Kingdom and throw its ruling body into chaos. Given how devoted the Kingdom is to the Church, it wouldn’t surprise me if everything that’s happened in its borders was being controlled by the Agarthans to some extent.” 

“Because they hate Sothis and the Church more than anything?” Claude mused. 

“Yes. They might be getting desperate now that I’ve taken their home and am now using their creations against them,” Byleth frowned again, the corners of his lips curving perpetually downwards. “They’ll be more difficult to predict.” 

“What do you mean, Professor?” Dimitri spoke up again, his eye still glazed over. “What could these Agarthans have orchestrated in the Kingdom?” 

“The assassination of your father, for one thing,” Byleth put a hand on his chin in an oh-so-familiar gesture that Edelgard felt nostalgia bubbling up because of. “I haven’t found anything concrete in Shambala that points to their involvement, but that seems to be the most likely answer.” 

It took Edelgard several seconds too many to realize what Byleth was doing: he was trying to divert Dimitri’s obsessive rage from herself to Cornelia and the Agarthans. Perhaps he was telling the truth and the Slithering bastards were actually responsible for the Tragedy of Duscur, but the thought that he was still trying to choose her made her heart warm up within her chest. 

“The Agarthans could be responsible for the suffering of the dead?” Dimitri said in a slow voice. “For the pain of the ghosts following my every move?” 

“I don’t completely know, but I intend to find out, Dimitri,” Byleth promised. “If it comes to light that the Agarthans are responsible for Duscur, for everything that now haunts you, I will do whatever I can to help you avenge your father and everyone else you lost.” 

“The ghosts... they’re quieter,” the prince murmured in a dreamlike tone, swaying a bit on his feet. “I... I can feel...” 

“So, what are we to do now, Teach?” Claude asked after Dimitri trailed off, filling the silence that had followed. 

Byleth looked over him and Edelgard, his eyes again lingering on her and making her blood roar. “I ask again: Where is Rhea?” 

“I don’t know, Teach: I’ve been preoccupied with keeping the Alliance from all-out war these past five years and Dimitri was a vagabond,” Claude shot an accusing look at Edelgard. “If anyone would have Lady Rhea, then it would be the Empire, if she’s not already dead.” 

Byleth’s own eyes went to hers, making her Crest burn even hotter inside of her body. Flames coursed through her veins, reaching out for its other part, for him. 

“Edelgard?” he asked, his voice almost compelling her to spill everything she knew right then and there. 

“Tell me, my teacher: what would you do with Rhea if you get her?” Edelgard asked, praying that Byleth wouldn’t see through her ploy to buy time. 

If Hubert could wake up, he could teleport her out of here and they could get the Imperial army to withdraw. Byleth wouldn’t kill her, not if the flames that warmed her heart still smoldered within his own, but she had to retake control of the situation before they passed the point of no return. 

“I... I don’t know,” Byleth frowned, his eyes narrowing as a thoughtful look crossed his face. “I know I need to find her, but...” 

“You want answers from her, don’t you?” Edelgard prompted. “For everything we’ve learned? Everything that you and I discovered five years ago?” 

“Five years ago?” Claude frowned at Edelgard, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “You mean, you already knew about it? About Teach being a vessel for the Goddess and Nemesis?” 

“I did,” Edelgard nodded. “We discovered the answers together after he fainted in the time following the Battle of the Eagle and Lion.” 

“I remember that,” Byleth nodded, a faint smile curving his lips. 

It had also been the day that Hubert had attempted to kill him, and the first time he’d called her El. The memory almost made her smile. 

“So, it sounds like you know where Rhea is, Your Majesty,” Claude noted. “Is she in Enbarr or some hidden base?” 

“Will you kill her, my teacher?” Edelgard asked, remembering that the Knights of Seiros still held the Great Bridge. 

Perhaps she’d launch an offensive to take it back... unless Byleth interfered. 

“I’ll expose her, perhaps, let all of Fodlan know just what kind of creature has been preaching to it,” Byleth affirmed. “Let them decide what they want to do for themselves rather than being told.” 

“I tried that,” Edelgard said in a bitter voice. “Many of them believed my manifesto and defected, but far too many others denied everything I’d presented and labeled me a heretic deserving of death.” 

Narrow-minded fools. 

“And why should they have believed an Emperor who’d just plunged all of Fodlan into war?” Claude pointed out, deflating a bit as he looked around. “Even though you actually were telling the truth...” 

“Truth or lies... the enemy must be eliminated,” Dimitri intoned, drawing everyone’s attention. 

“And, uh, who is the enemy, Dimitri?” Claude asked, shooting a pointed glance at Edelgard. 

She ignored him. 

“Cornelia,” the prince murmured. “I must see if what the Professor has said is true, and... I have a duty to the people of Fhirdiad.” 

His eye cleared, shining brightly as he looked around as if he’d just awoken from a deep sleep. Blaiddyd reached out and clapped the prince’s shoulder, their shared Crest again flaring to life on their bodies. 

“You... you helped me,” the prince said to the ashen Elite. “You made the ghosts go silent. Why?” 

Blaiddyd shook his head, his mouth moving in silent words apparently only Dimitri and Byleth could hear. 

“Dimitri, I couldn’t bear to watch you suffer any further,” Byleth stepped forward and offered a hand to the prince, whose gaze focused on him. “You’ve always been too keen on taking the burden of others upon yourself, regardless of the consequence it places upon your own shoulders.” 

Dimitri looked at the offered hand and shook his head. “As the survivor, it was my purpose to live for the wishes of the dead... or so I thought. You may have shown me my true enemy, but that doesn’t mean I have forgiven Edelgard or let go of my hatred for her.” 

“It doesn’t matter if you hate me or not, Dimitri,” Edelgard warned, the bitterness of the words on her tongue surprising her. “We are all enemies now, and I will not hesitate to cut any of you down if it allows me to realize my dream of a world belonging to the people of Fodlan rather than the chains of the corrupt Crest-fed system of nobility and Goddess worship.” 

Byleth had stilled at her words. “You would kill any of us if we got in your way, Edelgard?” 

Her heart ached and cracked further as she struggled to keep her gaze steely while she met his hurt-filled eyes. “I would. Even you, my teacher.” 

“You really are a monster,” Dimitri snarled, but his eyes were clearer than they had been. “After I take Fhirdiad back and kill Cornelia, I will return to end you for everything you’ve done.” 

“I’ll keep in contact with you regarding anything I learn about the Agarthan’s involvement in Duscur,” Byleth’s voice was dull and emotionless, even more so than usual. “Claude, you can return to the Alliance and focus on defending your borders from the Empire and Almyra. I’ll contact you regarding Shambala, the underground city, and see if we can decide on a good time for me to show you where it is.” 

“Teach, we’re not students, anymore,” Claude chuckled, shaking his head slowly. “Any chance you can use your professor’s authority to make Edelgard surrender?” 

If he asked her that... pleaded with her... No. She wouldn’t let anything or anyone stop her, no matter what. 

“As if I answer to you anymore, Byleth,” she purposely used his name to see how it affected him. “I promised my father that I would carry Fodlan to a brighter future during my coronation, and I will keep that promise until my dying breath.” 

His granite face cracked slightly at her barb, but the golden flames flickering within his eyes intensified. “Edelgard...” 

“Oppose me, and I will cut you down like anyone else,” Edelgard almost choked on those horrible words, managed to keep herself from shaking at the effort required to keep herself steady. “However, if you decide that you wish to stand at my side again, I will welcome you with open arms.” 

“You still want him at your side, huh?” Claude murmured. “Guess those rumors back at the monastery of you being in love with Teach were true, after all.” 

“Will you choose her again, Professor?” Dimitri asked before Edelgard could say anything about those rumors’ validity. “Like you did five years ago when you attacked Rhea?” 

She’d declared her love for him back at the Holy Tomb, two weeks before she’d invaded Garreg Mach. Two weeks before she’d lost him for five years. 

Even now, her smoldering heart still yearned for his, worse than ever because he was finally within her reach. 

“El... I still don’t agree with what you’ve done, even if I understand why you’re doing it,” Byleth slowly shook his head. “As much as I want to stand with you again, I...” 

“I understand,” Edelgard whispered, her heart seizing up in her chest as heat prickled the backs of her eyes. 

He couldn’t forgive what she’d done, the war she’d started and the people she’d killed. 

“I wanted to see you for so long... My heart was incomplete without you and it tore me apart every day my searches for you turned up empty-handed,” Edelgard sensed Hubert’s teleportation magic behind her, knew that she would be out of Byleth’s reach soon. “Even after five years, Byleth... I still love you.” 

Something in his eyes cracked as he took a step forward, his hand reaching out to her. “El...” 

“Your Majesty,” Hubert appeared behind her, his face sporting a wicked-looking bruise. “It’s time to leave.” 

“Edegard!” Dimitri’s shout was the last thing she heard as the world blended and warped, the image of Byleth’s stunned expression searing itself into her heart. 

Her vision cleared as hard ground met her feet, and she found herself standing at the back ranks of the now-retreating Imperial army. Her soldiers flooded past her in droves, red and black uniforms filling her vision. 

“Petra and I shall act as the rearguard, Your Majesty,” Hubert said, their two Demonic Beasts roaring as they took up positions at the back of the orderly retreat. “Should I go back for Aymr?” 

A ripple went through the ashen Liberation Army, and Edelgard feared for a moment that Byleth would simply order his troops to plow into her fleeing army and overrun them. Their aerial battalions, once again led by those flying Elites, cast a plethora of shadows upon the earth as they circled overhead. 

“No,” Edelgard answered her loyal vassal. “They’ll be expecting it. If you go back, they’ll kill you. We retreat back to Fort Merceus and take stock of our losses.” 

She looked up at the crest of the hill, found that Byleth was standing near the fortifications overlooking her forces, his cape billowing behind him in the wind as he watched the fractured Imperial army abandon the razed Gronder Field. His eyes bored into her, hot orbs of fiery energy that seared the nerves they settled upon. 

“Forgive me, my Byleth,” she whispered, lifting an armored hand up to her smoldering heart as the flames rose within her chest. “All I wanted was to be with you, but now...” 

All three of the largest armies capable of being mustered by Fodlan’s nations had been decimated, with a new one brought forth from ashes and Agarthan technology now positioned to reign free across the battlegrounds. Unhindered by supply lines or the support of a nation or noble houses, the Liberation Army was the perfect force to run rampant across Fodlan. 

Perhaps she could convince Byleth to stop fighting altogether? Make an offering of sorts to get him to back out of the war? 

A bitter smile curved her lips. No, he wouldn’t back out, not while his beloved students were trying to kill each other. Not as long as she continued to fight. 

Edelgard lifted her eyes to take one last look at her beloved, who hadn’t moved as he continued to watch her withdrawal. 

“Forgive me, my beloved.” 

She turned to retreat as well, leaving behind pieces of her heart as she did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since time has passed for pretty much everyone but Byleth, I wanted him to still kinda be in his 'professor' mindset, where the Eagles, Deer, and Lions are still his students, which is why I had him behaving in a manner a teacher would in regards to setting up contact with Claude and Dimitri and instructing them on what to do. I hope I stayed closer to their characters this time, especially Dimitri since I had Blaiddyd sort of mesh their minds and Crests together to try to rebuild Dimitri's shattered psyche. Not sure if I'm going to have the other Elites do something similar to their descendants yet, especially since I wasn't originally planning on letting this shared influence be so... significant, but now I wanted to try something a little different, where the influence is based majorly on the distance between the Crests. The closer the bearers are, the more profound their connection to each other, so to speak. The spells that were fired on the three armies were obviously Meteor, Bolting, and Agnea's Arrow, the Arrow being included because I needed a third longer range spell and the Arrow (despite being close range) seemed like a good addition because it looks really cool, in my opinion.


	19. Reunion at Myrddin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to apologize to you guys for the long wait between the chapters. Between work and school and my complete inability to come up with words for this chapter, it took me way longer than anticipated to get this out, so thank you for being patient with me.

His still heart ached and burned, threatening to come apart in his chest. To be on the same field upon which he’d fought alongside his Black Eagles during the mock battle over five years previous, watching as his students did everything they could to kill each other... Goddess... 

“So, uh, Teach, how far are you going to come with us?” Claude and the remains of his shattered Alliance army were advancing alongside the deathly Liberation army, grey and scarlet Crest of Flames banners fluttering in tandem with the white and gold of the Leicester Alliance. 

“Just past the Bridge,” Byleth answered him, the face of his beloved Edelgard appearing in his mind’s eye. “Then we’ll head for this Dark Forest to help Marianne.” 

Goddess... she was beautiful, stern and commanding all at once, that horned crown from the coronation now sitting upon her brow and her long white hair tied up into complex braids. A proper Emperor, now waging war on the rest of Fodlan. 

“I’ll, uh, let Margrave Edmund know you’re coming so he doesn’t raise an army to stop you,” Claude nodded, his green eyes narrowed as if he was still trying to come to terms with everything he’d learned. 

“Professor!” a familiar voice made Byleth look over to see a painfully familiar white head running towards him, a blue and white dress flowing around her. 

“Lysithea!” some modicum of joy tugged at his still heart at the sight of the violet-eyed girl, a light blue shawl draped around her head and shoulders. 

She slammed into him, her arms wrapping tightly around his body. “Professor, I’m so happy to see you again! When I saw you on the central hill, I was afraid we were all going to be fighting.” 

Byleth held the girl to him, marveling at how much she’d grown these past five years. Hell, all of the students he’d seen looked so different and mature. It opened up a pit in his stomach. 

“I’m glad we didn’t have to,” he said as she pulled back, scrutinizing his armor and the black Sword of the Creator he carried. “It’s good to see you.” 

“Likewise, but you have a lot of explaining to do,” she declared, putting her hands on her hips after releasing him. “What’s up with your gear? And where did you get this army?” 

“It’s a long story,” Byleth told her, exhaling slowly to release some of the tension knotting his chest. 

“I’ll explain it later, okay?” Claude interrupted, rubbing his chin and the facial hair growing on it. “Teach has a lot to do, as do we.” 

Lysithea huffed and folded her arms, lips parted to spit out some retort when another larger form came bounding over, his leather and metal apparel much more suited to contain his bulky frame. 

“Hey, Professor!” Raphael’s unmistakable voice called over, his blonde curls falling around his eyes as he grinned. “Man, it’s good to see you, but you look so thin! Have you been eating? You gotta take care of your muscles if you wanna keep fighting well!” 

“Raphael,” Byleth felt a grin curving his lips. “I see you haven’t changed much.” 

How many others from the Golden Deer would he find this day? Were any of them... still on Gronder? Facedown in the mud and the bloody refuse of war? 

A lump formed in his throat at the miserable thought. 

“Hey! Claude!” a voice shouted from behind, making Byleth turn as several Alliance troops around him drew their weapons. 

A Paladin in gold-painted armor was escorting Petra Macneary forward, the Brigid princess’s colorful leather garb hugging her body to leave her movements unhindered. Her long, braided hair was streaked with blood and dirt, frayed bandages peeking out from a few places on her body. 

“Professor!” Petra surged forward and wrapped her arms around her former teacher. “I am overjoyed to be seeing you again!” 

Her arms were stronger than before, Byleth noted as he placed his own arms around his former student, frowning at the stench of blood lingering upon her. 

“Petra, what are you doing here?” Claude asked, his voice wary as Alliance soldiers took aim at the Imperial. 

Petra pulled back and released Byleth, rummaging through her satchel and pulling out a small sheaf of letters. “I was wanting to be giving these to you, Professor! Edelgard has been writing them ever since you went missing, and I think she wanted to be giving them to you one day.” 

Byleth took the letters, his chest lurching at the sight of his name inked in Edelgard’s familiar elegant cursive across the parchment. “She told you to give these to me?” 

Petra shook her head. “No, actually. I remembered seeing them in Enbarr when we were leaving for the battle and wanted to be taking them with me in case we saw you.” 

“Hold it,” Claude lifted his hands as if to stop the conversation. “You stole those letters from Edelgard and carried them with you to a battlefield just on the vague hope that you’d run into Teach again? I don’t think Her Majesty would have been too happy if she’d found out you took them.” 

Petra gave him an offended glare. “I would not be getting caught! I would have been returning the letters before Edelgard is figuring out that I had taken them!” 

A snort almost escaped Byleth, but had been repressed into a short huff that made Lysithea raise an eyebrow. “Edelgard might get upset once she learns you delivered these to me without her permission.” 

“She will be upset with me?” Petra frowned, looking confused. “But I was under the impression that Edelgard was wanting you to read these letters?” 

“Maybe, maybe not,” Byleth shrugged, a small warmth tugging at his chest. “Petra, you should get your wounds looked at.” 

Her face fell. “Will you not be coming with me? Everyone has been missing you!” 

“I... I want to see everyone as well, but there’s something else demanding my attention at the moment,” he missed all of his students, but the emptiness in his heart/Crest Stone was more pronounced whenever he thought of Edelgard. 

He would get to her, talk to her, and find out just what the hells she was hoping to accomplish with this damn war just as soon as he managed to stabilize this hell. 

“Hey, Professor!” Hilda joined the growing number of former Golden Deer students, her smile wide and pink eyes gleaming. “You had me worried when you showed up like that!” 

“Hilda,” a faint smile tugged at Byleth’s lips at the enthusiastic hug the girl threw around him. “Sorry for worrying you.” 

She laughed as she pulled back, a sweet perfume tinting the air around her as she studied him. “Well, I suppose I could forgive you: you did save my and my brother’s lives back at Fodlan’s Locket!” 

Byleth nodded: he’d put his new army to the test with that battle and of course he couldn’t just let one of his students die when he could help. It had been so tempting to just whip out his twin Relics to drive back the Almyrans, but he couldn’t risk word of his reappearance spreading prematurely. 

“I’m just glad you two survived,” he said as Hilda released him. “I moved my troops over as quickly as I could the moment I got word that you were being attacked.” 

Hilda frowned. “How did you hear that the Almyrans were invading? Weren’t you in some underground city or something?” 

Byleth pointed at Goneril, who lifted a hand in a wave when Hilda looked at him. “Hilda, say hi to your ancestor: Goneril of the Ten Elites. He bears the same Crest you do, and he was able to sense that you were in trouble.” 

“Really?” the girl- young woman, Byleth reminded himself- blanched and looked at her ancestor with wide eyes. “Well, thank you!” 

Goneril nodded. “It was my pleasure, Hilda.” 

She didn’t hear him, nobody did but Byleth and the other Elites. 

“Do they... talk?” Claude asked after a moment of silence. “You seemed to be communicating with Blaiddyd back on Gronder.” 

“They do, but I think you need their Crest to hear them,” Byleth mused, thinking back to what Blaiddyd had done. 

“I didn’t hear him,” Hilda pointed out, at which Byleth could only shrug before his thoughts wandered, 

What now? Edelgard wasn’t going to abandon her ambition so easily, even if he was now among the forces that might be opposing her. The Alliance might not partake further in the fight, given that their invasion of Imperial lands had failed and they’d never once been on the receiving end of an assault that wasn’t from one of their own. 

No, Claude likely wouldn’t fight, not anymore, unless it was in defense to an Imperial incursion. 

That just left Dimitri, whose beaten, ragged, and exhausted army had camped itself on the opposite shore of the Airmid, shielded by the remnants of the Knights of Seiros. The Kingdom had been badly beaten and humiliated by the Empire, so they would certainly be itching to satisfy their codes of honor and to reclaim their lost capital. As for if they would continue to fight after Fhirdiad’s liberation, that was up to Dimitri. 

“I must be leaving now, but I am having hope that we will be meeting again soon!” Petra bowed and then hurried off, her words snapping Byleth from his thoughts. 

“See you,” he murmured, watching his former pupil’s violet hair vanish among the trees. 

“Professor, what are you going to do?” Lysithea broke the silence that followed. 

“I need to talk to the Knights of Seiros,” Byleth looked at the distant city of tents erected by the Kingdom, white-armored Knights of Seiros mingling with the exhausted azure soldiers. 

“We’ll make preparations to fortify the bridge further and pull our forces into defensive positions,” Claude decided. “The Alliance isn’t in the shape to fight the Empire head-on, so I’m afraid we’re going to have to leave the hardest part to you, Teach.” 

Byleth nodded. “Leave it to me. I am going to check on Marianne first, however.” 

“I’m going with you,” Hilda stepped forward, her head held high. “I want to help Marianne.” 

Hilda was volunteering for a mission? Hilda, who ordinarily did everything in her power to foist her duties off onto any poor sucker who crossed her path? 

“I’d be glad to have you,” Byleth kept those thoughts to himself, not wanting to offend the young woman. 

The group continued forward, Alliance generals dragging Claude away after a few moments to badger him with reports while everyone else continued onwards. Byleth could feel the stares of the assembled soldiers, hear their whispers as they examined him, the Elites, and his army. 

Byleth looked across the sea of exhausted faces, of dirty metal-covered men and women who were still covered in blood. The stench of iron and body odors was overwhelming, the rattling of armor and the chatter of dozens of different voices filling the air. 

Monks and other healers were ghosts in the sea of metal and blood, their hands glowing with gentle light as they moved among the screaming and crying wounded. 

“What a miserable sight,” Lysithea murmured, her violet eyes taking in each horrific and bloody detail. 

“This is the reality of war,” Byleth affirmed grimly, his eyes locking onto a familiar bright green shock of hair moving among the wounded. 

Flayn: her face was ashen and tight with suppressed horror as she knelt over a bleeding man whose armor had been ripped open over the abdomen, his flesh torn to ribbons. Her hands glowed with powerful magic, beads of sweat running down her face from exerting herself. 

A warning flickered through Byleth’s senses, his body propelling itself two feet backwards before he could even think. A crackling bone-blade wreathed in scarlet energy slashed through the air where he’d just been standing, an enraged roar spilling from the lips of the woman wielding the weapon. 

“Traitor!” Catherine screamed, catching herself and lunging. 

“My lord!” Charon intercepted the raging Knight of Seiros, meeting the original Thunderbrand with its black copy. 

“What the?!” Catherine faltered, her eyes wide as they took in the copied Relic. 

Charon swept her legs out from beneath her with a vicious kick, grabbing Thunderbrand and ripping it from their descendant’s hands. The Elite bounded out of range as Catherine leaped back up to her feet, clenching her fists. 

“What the hell is this?” she demanded, glaring daggers at Byleth while her gaze flitted to the Elites readying their copied Relics. 

“Catherine, I’m glad to see that you’re doing well,” Byleth nodded to her, already seeing all of the eyes watching now him. 

Seteth was also glaring bloody murder in his direction, as were several other Knights of Seiros. 

“You’re brave or foolish to come up to us after trying to kill Lady Rhea!” Catherine snarled, her stance faltering just for a moment as more of the Liberation Army shuffled forward to aid their commander. 

“For your information, the one who attacked Rhea wasn’t me, Catherine,” Byleth said to the enraged Swordmaster, feeling his army gathering around him as much as he heard them. 

So many flames smoldering within their lifeless chests... they burned as a multitude of stars fallen upon the earth. 

“Bullshit,” Catherine spat. “I watched you attack Rhea before I ran to her aid.” 

“Professor!” Flayn’s shriek of joy cut his response off as the green-haired fish lover slammed into Byleth’s torso and yet another pair of arms wrapped around him. 

“Flayn!” Seteth surged forward, halting as the Elites readied their glowing black weapons. “Get away from him! He isn’t who you think he is! This army... those Elites...” 

“I am not Nemesis, Seteth,” Byleth said to the ancient saint, just barely refraining from using the man’s real name. “I am Byleth Eisner.” 

Murmurs rippled through the assembled armies. 

“Nemesis?” 

“The King of Liberation?” 

“What is he talking about?” 

“The Elites?” 

Seteth shuffled nervously, his gaze never leaving his daughter. 

Flayn pulled back to beam up at Byleth, and a vision flared to life of her choking while fingers commanded by Nemesis were wrapped around her throat. “Yes, this is indeed our Professor! I can see it in his eyes!” 

“Nemesis, the King of Liberation?” Catherine demanded. “What the hell does he have to do with any of this?” 

Byleth sighed and lifted his original Sword of the Creator. “The soul of the King of Liberation was partially sealed in the Sword of the Creator. He began to wake up shortly after I got the Relic and made several attempts to exert power over me, which resulted in rather explosive consequences from time to time.” 

“Explosive?” Catherine repeated slowly, a frown on her lips. “That blast in your classroom five years ago...” 

“The Professor wasn’t the one who attacked Rhea, I swear it!” Flayn jumped in yet again. “When he awoke during the Empire’s invasion, his eyes were gold rather than green, and his voice was not his own! You know it as well, brother!” 

Seteth flinched as all eyes fell on him, but he gave a grim nod. “Flayn is... telling the truth. The person who attacked Rhea five years ago was not Professor Eisner. I was afraid that the one standing before us now was the King of Liberation reborn, but it appears I was wrong.” 

Catherine hesitated. “The one who attacked Lady Rhea was Nemesis, rather than the Professor? Then... how do we know that he’s not going to become Nemesis again?” 

“Nemesis merged his soul with my own in order to allow me to take command of his former army. He recognized that him trying to be in control was harming both of us,” Byleth lifted both of his Relics, the weight comforting somehow even if the armored plates on his arms dug into his flesh. “He will not be taking control of me again.” 

This chat was wasting time. He needed to get the information he needed and move if he was to help Marianne, then make a decision about where to go next. 

“Why are you here?” Seteth asked, thankfully taking the conversation in a different direction. “Do you know anything about Rhea’s whereabouts?” 

“I met with Edelgard, Claude and Dimitri on Gronder. She told me that Rhea was being held in Enbarr,” Byleth answered. 

“In Enbarr? Then we know where to strike!” Catherine declared, pumping a fist into the air. “Let’s get started! I’ll take on anyone that stands in my way!” 

“Calm yourself, Catherine,” Seteth chided. “Despite being beaten back here, the Empire still has Fort Merceus guarding Enbarr along with an army larger than the Kingdom’s or the Alliance’s. We cannot hope to hit them head on and survive.” 

“We won here,” Catherine retorted, movement from the side catching Byleth’s eyes. 

Shamir was limping forward, nodding to him before stopping in front of her partner. “We barely won this fight, you know. If I hadn’t been able to stop Ferdinand’s attack, he and Lorenz would have rampaged all over us.” 

A cold hand brushed against Byleth’s spine. “Ferdinand? You fought Ferdinand here?” 

Shamir froze, her lips murmuring a soft curse as if realizing that she’d said something she shouldn’t have. 

“He was among the Imperial defenders, yes,” Shamir said slowly, the calculation in her voice making Byleth’s heart warm with rage that didn’t belong to Nemesis for once. 

“You killed Ferdinand?” he spoke slowly. 

“Aw, crap,” Catherine muttered, gazing forlornly at where her Relic was being held by her ancestor. 

“Yes, we did, but he gave us no other choice,” Shamir’s voice was slow, almost fading as the raging warmth began to blossom within Byleth’s chest and spread. “And even then, he almost overpowered me. You trained him a little too well, it would seem.” 

That anger that warmed him made him want to reach out and tear Shamir apart, to get revenge for the death of his student, but... wasn’t revenge the reason that Nemesis became what he did? 

“Professor, he gave us no choice,” Seteth’s voice was just barely audible over the roaring filling Byleth’s ears. “This is war: it was either him or us.” 

No, he wouldn’t allow himself to become Nemesis. No matter how much this hurt... he had to remain Byleth. 

Byleth stepped away from Shamir, fighting to keep his anger under control all the while struggling with how unfamiliar this emotion was. What else was he going to feel from this point on? 

“Professor?” Even Catherine’s eyes were wide with surprise as the Elites backed off, lowering their weapons. 

“You killed one of my students, and I will not forgive you for that,” Byleth forced out, inhaling deeply to clear his mind. “But I will not act out of revenge. I will not become another Nemesis.” 

“Professor...” Seteth’s voice was almost too quiet to hear, but Flayn’s was not. 

“See?! He is our Professor no matter what! Brother, I intend to go with him!” 

Seteth balked. “Flayn?! You know I cannot allow that!” 

The father was still too overprotective of the daughter, it would seem. 

“I feel that going with him will allow me to help more people and work together to save Rhea,” Flayn’s determination was fueled by sheer stubbornness, but Byleth had to admit that he was impressed by her drive. 

“If you still worry for her safety, I swear on my life that I will defend her with everything I have,” Byleth said to Seteth. “Including the Elites.” 

Riegan gave him a thumbs up. 

“No, absolutely not,” Seteth shook his head furiously. “I will not let Flayn go gallivanting off with the Liberation Army in the middle of a war!” 

“With all due respect, brother, this is my decision,” Flayn retorted, placing her hands on her hips. “And I am choosing to go with the Professor.” 

“Flayn!” Seteth snarled, his eyes hard with steel as his hands tightened into fists. “You are going to get hurt if you go with him! I am not going to lose you!” 

“Seteth, if we don’t let her go, we’re not going to hear the end of it,” Shamir advised. “And I get the feeling she’s going to try to sneak out later if you refuse. If she goes with the Professor, at least she’ll have the Elites and the Professor, himself, to protect her. She’s far safer with them than she is with us.” 

“I...” Seteth halted again, the conflict in his eyes clear. “No, I will not lose my sister!” 

“You aren’t going to lose her, you overprotective lout,” Lysithea chided, her sharp tongue drawing a glare from the ancient saint. “If anything, you’ll be ensuring her safety by sending her off with what has to be the most powerful forces present in Fodlan at the moment. You didn’t see how quickly they dominated the battlefield at Gronder: we were completely at their mercy.” 

Seteth faltered, an ancient pain flickering in his eyes of another battlefield upon which he’d witnessed the might of the Liberation Army and its lieutenants. He knew their strength, their inhuman power better than anyone else in the Knights of Seiros. 

“Seteth, if you don’t trust me, then I will make an oath right here and now,” Byleth offered. “I swear on the name of the Goddess Sothis that Flayn will not come to harm from enemy forces and that every effort will be made by myself and all under my command to protect her.” 

His Crest Stone warmed within his chest at that declaration, several of the onlookers murmuring in surprise and shock. 

“Professor?” Seteth’s jaw had dropped before he’d picked it back up. “If... if you’re willing to swear such a serious oath, I... But... Flayn...” 

“I already gave you my word. Take it or leave it but I do want to know something,” Byleth folded his arms and glared at the ancient saint. “If I were to take up arms against the Empire and force them to capitulate, would you and the Church have Edelgard executed?” 

They would, without a doubt, just as they had all the others who’d dared to question them or speak out against them, but he had to hear it from Seteth, himself. 

Without skipping a beat, the old saint nodded, his expression hardening. “Yes, we would. She started this war, plunged Fodlan into chaos, and is responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocents. If you try to protect her from the judgement of the Goddess, then you will share her fate, Professor.” 

As expected, but he wasn’t going to let them have Edelgard. 

“We shall see. Hilda, if you’re coming with me to help Marianne, get everything you need,” Byleth said to the first of his potential new recruits. 

“I’m all packed up and ready to go!” she declared, hefting her own Freikugel onto her shoulders. 

Where the hell did that Relic come from? She wasn’t holding it a few moments ago. 

“I’m ready to go as well!” Flayn declared, pumping her fists with excitement despite Seteth’s following protest. 

“Be careful, Professor,” Lysithea strode forward and hugged him again. “I want to see you safe and sound after all of this is done.” 

A smile curved his lips as he let go of the talented sorceress. “You stay safe as well, Lysithea.” 

“Good luck, Teach,” Claude strode over with Raphael in tow alongside a pair of Alliance generals. “Hopefully we can put this bad business behind us soon.” 

“Agreed,” Byleth looked back at his forces and the two tagalongs. “You two ready?” 

The two women nodded, both of them grinning. 

“We’re going to head to the Dark Forest and then Fhirdiad to ensure that Dimitri is able to stand against Cornelia and whatever mechanized horrors she has with her,” Byleth decided. 

“Then we’re off to Enbarr!” Flayn declared, her eyes gleaming the way they did whenever she had a poor fish in her clutches. 

Byleth absently touched the letters given to him by Petra, warmth spreading from his chest at the thought of reading Edelgard’s words to him. 

“Let’s go.” 


	20. The Forgotten Hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope my interpretation of Marianne's personality is as close as possible to the game. I consulted the game while writing this just to make sure, but feel free to tell me if you think I should try to tweak it a bit because I love Marianne and I want to do her character justice.

The Dark Forest was aptly named, Marianne decided: the heavy fog filling the expanse of skeletal trees and muddy earth made everything emerge as if from one of Mercedes’s old ghost stories. The hair on her neck stood on end as the chill bit through her dress and cloak, a distant howl echoing through the dead trees. 

Her heart was pounding in her chest, adrenaline spiking through her every vein and her nerves screaming for her to get out of this wretched place. She swallowed nervously, whispering another prayer to the Goddess for a quick end. For judgement to finally reach her in punishment for the burden she’d placed upon this world just by existing. 

This Wandering Beast the scholar was accusing her of being... perhaps it would finally be the Goddess’s answer to her prayers? 

The faint silhouettes of the dead trees clawed upwards at the fog-covered skies, bare limbs curled into claws. Another low howl echoed through the emptiness, but the wolf didn’t sound close enough to be of any concern yet. 

Marianne kept walking forward, swallowing the lump that formed in her throat as she pushed through the dead foliage and the dense fog. The Beast had to be nearby, right? 

She entered what she thought was a clearing, since the trees weren’t clustering around her, and her Crest immediately began to burn within her blood. 

“Huh?” she looked down at her hand to see the symbol of her accursed existence shining above her hand, mocking her with the sin of simply being alive. 

Something stirred in the fog, branches shifted and snapped as a heavy body moved in the darkness. A groan that wasn’t quite human filled the forest, a blast of hot, stagnating air blasting Marianne across the face. 

Her lungs shriveled and died inside of her chest at the ungodly stench of the breath, the pure rot and decay of what it was that had just awakened. 

“Who goes there?” a deep rumble of a voice came from the shadow forming inside the mist, heavy footfalls making the earth tremble as Marianne’s heart ran a marathon inside of her chest. “Who disturbs my slumber?” 

Her voice died in her throat as the massive monster hauled its titanic armored frame from the forest, a serpentine tongue trailing from a cavern filled with razor sharp teeth. Her Crest was emblazoned on its snout, beneath the quivering nostrils. 

“U-um, are you the Wandering Beast said to live in these woods?” her voice came out as a terrified squeak, her legs shaking so badly she thought for certain she was going to faint. 

The monster’s beady eyes bore into her, then shifted to the Crest still shining over her hand. “You... you bear our Crest?” 

Those words made her falter. “Our Crest?” 

Who was this? Why was... their Crest on the creature’s forehead? 

Another howl pierced the air, followed by a distant roar. 

“This place is the den of Demonic Beasts,” the Wandering Beast warned her. “Leave, now, if you want to escape with your life.” 

Did she want to survive? To escape? Could she really be allowed to live after all the trouble she’d already caused because of her curse? 

The Wandering Beast froze, a low growl emanating from its throat. “Something comes... my beastly blood... it is roused! Get out of here, bearer of my Crest! I will not be stopped!” 

Another roar split the forest, followed by a crash in the distance. Trees shattered as a heavy body was hurled into them, the Wandering Beast crouching and baring its many fangs before freezing. 

“Wait... this presence...” 

Marianne followed its gaze, her trembling heart skipping a beat. Two red lights were shining off in the distance, illuminating a caped and armored figure striding forward through the dead forest. 

“Relics? Two of them?” she gasped, her mind immediately going to the Goddess. 

Was this her judgement at last? And ending to this cursed life? 

“It cannot be,” the Wandering Beast murmured at her side, awe plain in its voice. “He has come back for me, even after all this time.” 

“Who has come back?” Marianne asked, awe flooding into her own senses when a giant wolf pounced on the wielder of the Relics, only to be sliced open by twin lines of crackling energies. 

The Relic wielder strode closer and closer, the shock of bright green hair and eyes making Marianne’s heart leap into her throat. 

“P-Professor?!” she spluttered, disbelief replacing the awe. “Are you here to deliver me to the Goddess?” 

Professor Byleth raised an eyebrow at that, more dark figures moving and emerging from the fog behind him. “You’re safe, that’s a relief. And, uh, no, I am not here to take you to Sothis.” 

Oh. But he was alive! 

“My king, you have returned for me at long last,” the Wandering Beast at her side inclined its head in respect, a strangled yelp escaping Marianne’s throat at the words. 

“K-king? Professor, what’s going on?” 

Her old professor’s green eyes lingered on the Beast before turning to her. “It’s a long story, but I came to help.” 

“Marianne!” another shockingly familiar voice almost made Marianne leap out of her skin as Hilda, of all people, came out of the fog and wrapped her arms around Marianne. 

She squeaked as the breath was forced from her lungs, the too-sweet smell of Hilda’s favorite perfume assaulting her nostrils. 

“Hilda?” was the only word Marianne could force from her dying lungs. 

The Wandering Beast rumbled behind them, making Hilda yelp and let go of Marianne. “My king, I regret that I was unable to serve you like this.” 

“You aren’t to blame for this, old friend,” Byleth spoke, his tone soft and comforting like it had been the many times he’d spoken to Marianne. “To think that you were forced to wander for so long after you were transformed...” 

“You know this Beast?” Marianne asked her old mentor, whose face was etched with almost unnatural sorrow before it hardened back into his stony mien. 

She’d heard from some of the old students at the Monastery say that his smile was captivating, but she’d never seen it, herself. She’d only ever seen this ashen mask. 

“I do,” Byleth answered. “Maurice, the Eleventh of the Elites, etched out of history because of this.” 

“Maurice,” the Beast breathed. “How many years has it been since I’ve heard that name?” 

“Eleventh Elite?” Marianne was amazed that she’d kept her voice from trembling at all throughout this chat with her old professor, least of not that she was actually speaking so much with him to begin with. 

“Twelve, if you count Nemesis,” Byleth murmured, gazing at the massive Beast. “It’s a long story, Marianne.” 

Nemesis? The King of Liberation? How much had she missed? 

“My king, I still have the blade you entrusted to me,” the Beast rumbled. “I never let go of it, even when the dragon’s rage took ahold of my body and twisted it into this form. I never once forgot my oaths to you.” 

“I thank you for your devotion, my old friend,” Byleth spoke with that gentle, disarming voice that made even Marianne’s nerves ease into something resembling peace. “Maurice, you have suffered for far too long in that form. If you wish to be released from it, I will grant you a quick and painless end.” 

“Release?” the Beast murmured, the decaying stench heavily permeating the air around it making Marianne’s eyes water. “But how would I serve you, my king?” 

“You have done enough, Maurice, and have suffered this curse for long enough,” Byleth lifted two versions of the Sword of the Creator and crossed them in an X before his body as red light began to illuminate their blades. “And... we have a way you can serve even after this body has been destroyed.” 

Powerful auras resonated from the forest, the energy making Marianne’s hair stand on end as waves of electricity marked her body in gooseflesh. She looked over at the forest, her heart leaping into her throat at the sight of almost a dozen Relics flaring to life like fallen stars in the fog. 

The ten dark warriors holding the black weapons were unfamiliar to her, their ashen skin making a lump form in her throat. Walking corpses? Is that what they were? 

She had a brief flashback to one of Mercedes’s old ghost stories, where a necromancer had brought back an army of dead soldiers to wreak havoc on those who’d wronged him. Was the Professor like that necromancer? And were these soldiers the Ten Elites? 

“My comrades... I see now,” the Beast lifted its head to expose a small gap in the plates covering its throat. “My king... release me from this form, I beg of you. Allow me to serve you once again.” 

The Crest Marianne had tried so desperately to forget and push away was turning her blood into fire, energy and heat crackling through her veins with even greater intensity now that so many other powerful Crests and Relics were surrounding her. 

“Maurice, I release you from your suffering,” Byleth swung, twin lines of crackling energy slashing across the offered vulnerability. 

The Beast loosed a low groan as its heavy body crashed onto the forest floor, black blood gushing from the burning cut in its throat. 

“I’d step back if I were you, Marianne,” Byleth warned, Marianne’s shoulder socket screaming in protest as Hilda’s strong hand pulled her back. 

Why? What was going to- 

The explosion of dark energy that ripped apart the carcass of the Beast answered her just moments later. The shockwave slapped Marianne across the face and threatened to hurl her into the forest when a massive black horse cantered in front of her, absorbing the brunt of the waves. 

Her ears were ringing, but she faintly heard Byleth asking her if she was okay and made herself nod. 

“Flayn, can you take a look at her?” 

Flayn? Flayn was here, too? 

A burst of cool magic pierced Marianne’s skull and the ringing faded immediately, sharpening back into a plethora of sounds that immediately made her head throb. 

“There we go!” the voice of Seteth’s little sister was followed by her childish face, which was set into an uncharacteristically stoic expression as she stared at where Maurice had been. 

There was nothing left of the Beast but a blackened stain on the ground and... a skeleton that was clearly beyond ancient, as if a gentle breeze would crumble it into dust. Clutched in its bony hand was a curved sword with a Crest Stone in the hilt, the weapon radiating magical energy. 

“Ah, there’s Blutgang,” Byleth knelt beside the skeleton, his own swords back on his waist as he clasped his hands together in an almost prayer-like fashion. “Maurice never let go of it, just like he said.” 

Marianne could feel her Crest reacting to the weapon, tugging her forward to claim it as if it would solve all of her problems. The massive horse trotted aside to let her move, Hilda’s hand gripping hers as the two women strode towards the blade and the skeleton. 

“W-what do we do about it?” Marianne forced herself to speak in the heavy, suffocating silence that followed. 

“Blutgang is yours, Marianne,” Byleth reached down and gingerly took the ancient Relic, the movement making the skeleton immediately crumble into dust. “Well, I was hoping to bury that, but...” 

He held the weapon out to Marianne, whose throat was currently host to a rather large lump that she couldn’t disgorge as she reached out with a trembling hand. 

“Heads up!” Hilda’s shout and the subsequent blazing of the black Relics made a short shriek escape Marianne’s lips. 

Pale ghostly figures in Church garb were moving through the forest towards them, not making a single sound as they cruised forward, almost blending in with the thick fog. 

“Ah, it seems the Church kept something here to watch Maurice, or maybe keep him from leaving,” Byleth muttered, Marianne jumping as Blutgang’s rough and cold hilt was thrust into her hands. “Stay back.” 

“Professor?” the Relic warmed in her hands, her Crest smoldering and spreading a much more comfortable warmth through her veins. 

An arrow of light nearly took off her head, and Hilda all but threw her onto the ground before sprinting forward with a roar. Marianne pushed herself up, mud coagulating around her hands and the Relic still in her grasp, wonder filling her as she watched Hilda plunge into the spirits before proceeding to hack them to pieces with her own Freikugel. 

“Remind me to never make her angry,” Byleth muttered. “Goneril, go with her!” 

A fierce-looking warrior with the black replica of Hilda’s axe charged after her, making a beeline for a ghostly bishop firing beams of golden light at Hilda. She ducked and shifted her huge axe sideways to act as a shield, but a shot of light magic slammed into her. Hilda hit the ground with a scream, kicking up dirt each time she rolled. 

“Hilda!” Marianne’s heart lurched with worry and guilt, and Blutgang grew hotter in her grasp. 

It was trying to tug her forward, to slash through the specters in front of them and save Hilda. 

Goneril plowed into the spirits as crimson arrows and bolts of magic fired from the other Elites began whittling away at their numbers, making each specter vanish in a burst of light each time a killing shot was landed. 

The War Master hacked and slashed his way through the ghosts around him, reducing them into bursts of ethereal light before the specters vanished. 

A spectral archer was taking aim at Hilda, who was struggling to push herself up, and Blutgang flared with energy. Marianne’s Crest burned within her, smoldering as her body leaped forward on its own will. 

The weapon sang and danced in crackling scarlet lines around her as it first reduced the ethereal archer to dust and then set about ripping into any of the creatures who were attempting to get at Hilda. Warmth filled Marianne’s body, fire crackling through her veins as she danced from ghost to ghost, shredding any in reach. 

She stood over Hilda, the only one who’d dared to be her friend, to make this cursed existence bearable even while admonishing her over her inability to clean. Specters armed with swords and lances tried to bury their weapons into Hilda, but Blutgang ripped through them all with ease while Goneril hacked apart the dwindling survivors with his massive axe. 

“Marianne?” Hilda’s awed voice came from below, drawing Marianne’s eyes to the gleaming irises of her friend. “That was incredible!” 

“Don’t celebrate yet,” the Professor joined them, his eyes empty but steeled as he gazed off into the woods. “Maurice said something about this place being a den for Demonic Beasts, didn’t he?” 

As if on cue, a beastly roar echoed from the darkness, answered by another and another until the entire forest was baying for blood. 

Blutgang’s glow was dying, the energy and warmth in Marianne’s veins fading away as her leaden muscles began to ache and protest from the efforts they’d put forth. 

“I, um, I think I used it up,” Marianne squeaked, horror and fear trickling into her mind. 

“Understandable, given how long the sword’s gone without a wielder,” the professor nodded. “The Sword of the Creator was the same way for a while, until I got used to using it. I’ll take care of the Beasts.” 

Heavy bodies were crashing through the forest, unholy snarls filling the air along with the telltale stench of the poison secreted by their bodies. Marianne could already see their massive frames lumbering through the fog, great shadows clawing their way forward while yellow eyes glowed with murderous intent. 

“Blaiddyd, Gautier: shield them,” Byleth barked, his two Relics sparking to life with scarlet brilliance as he exploded into action. 

Two Beasts stomped through the trees, roaring and spewing poison from their fanged maws while their stony hides smashed through bark and tree limbs, snapping them with the instinctive violence of an infuriated predator. 

Two massive horses clopped in front of Marianne and Hilda, one being the Dark Knight who’d shielded her from Maurice’s exploding body, but she could still see by peeking out from under the black horse’s bulky body. 

Byleth sprinted forward with speed she’d never seen before, his cape and tails of crackling scarlet energy in billowing in his wake as he lunged at the first of the two Beasts. The fanged maw opened wide and disgorged a stream of steaming purple liquid, the hiss of the substance reaching even Marianne’s ears. 

The professor rolled to avoid it, came up sprinting and then jumped on the Beast’s head as it tried to snap him up into its gaping maw. He reared back and slammed both of his Relics into the Beast’s skull, its screech of agony short-lived as its titanic body shook the earth with its collapse. 

The second Beast spat its own stream of poison at the corpse of its fallen kin, but Byleth leaped impossibly high on the surge of the power being poured into him from his Relics, then plummeted downwards with the force of a falling star. 

The Beast screamed as a disgusting crack echoed through the forest, followed by the heavy crash of the gigantic body of the monster. The Beast’s fall drew several other roars from the Dark Forest, and Marianne’s fine hairs stood on end as more foliage shattered beneath stony hides and claws. 

“Looks like there are a few more approaching,” the professor wasn’t fazed as he strode back, both blades dripping dark blood as his gold-green eyes scanned the foggy foliage. “Stay back with Hilda and let my Elites handle this.” 

Blutgang was heavy in Marianne’s hand, the Relic tinted with the faintest hint of warmth. It was out of energy, perhaps. 

Great shadows appeared in the fog, snarling and grunting and shattering the foliage around them. Pair after pair of glowing yellow eyes lit up the fog, the heavy acidic stench of poison making Marianne gag as the noxious fumes violated her lungs. She could hear Hilda coughing as well, Freikugel laying in the dirt beside her. 

“Spread out! Choose your targets!” Byleth ordered, the Elites obeying in a flurry of clanking armor and rustling leather. 

Their ashen steeds didn’t react to the monsters now trampling through the foliage towards them, black Relics flaring with crimson light. The mounted archer pulled back on his bow and loosed a glowing arrow into the dark, the bolt of light slamming into a charging beast’s forehead. The monster screeched and tumbled onto the ground, gouging a deep furrow into the earth and kicking up clods of dirt and grass in every direction. 

The fog lit up with magic as the other Elites opened fire, stony hides cracking and shattering with disgusting, stomach-churning sounds as titanic bodies gouged into the earth. 

Gouts of poison were spat out in retaliation, but the streams of noxious purple splashed harmlessly onto the earth as the Elites easily avoided each attack. Most of the beasts fell under the hail of missiles and spells, but a few managed to get close. 

One of the massive horses galloped forward to meet one such beast, its heavily armored rider brandishing a pitch-black Lance of Ruin. The beast lashed out with its viciously curved claws, which the horse stepped aside to avoid while its rider thrust its lance into the beast’s eye. 

The yellow light guttered out immediately, the monster screeching in agony as blood gushed from its new injury. It lashed out again, blindly, with its claws but met empty air until the Relic pierced its hide hard enough to shatter it. As this beast went down, a massive wyvern dove from the fog and pounced on another one, its rider slamming an absolutely gigantic black hammer onto the monster’s head. 

The monster’s skull caved in like paper, crunching with a sound so disgusting Marianne’s very soul shivered in revulsion. 

And then there was the professor, his whip-like blades filling the forest with death as crackling red lines ripped through every Beast in range, shredding their hides with disturbing ease. It was like watching the Goddess, herself, delivering judgement upon the wicked. 

Only when the last monster lay dead on the bloody, gouged out earth did the Elites relax, their weapons dimming as they were holstered or sheathed. 

The professor strode up to Marianne, his swords hanging on his waist as his blank gaze peered into her very soul, light green irises shimmering with golden light. 

“Are you alright? Both of you?” he asked, looking down at Hilda. 

“I’m fine,” Marianne nodded, her hand still tightly clutching Blutgang despite the hilt digging into her flesh. 

“I’m good, Professor!” Hilda finally pushed herself to stand, gingerly rubbing a hole that had been opened on her shirt to reveal red skin beneath. “One of those spells really got me.” 

“Lamine, could you look them over?” 

One of the Elites, a Gremory with her face obscured by a veil, strode over to the two nobles, a strange gem hanging around her neck as gentle light magic sought out Hilda’s wounds. 

“Thank you for rescuing me, Professor,” Marianne bowed to her old teacher. “And you too, Hilda. How did you know where I was?” 

“Claude,” was all the professor said, glancing up as a beautiful pegasus soared over the forest, its rider lifting a gleaming lance. “They’re on the move already? We’re going to have to catch up quickly.” 

“Who’s on the move?” Hilda asked, stooping to retrieve Freikugel. 

“Dimitri and the Kingdom army, or what’s left of it. They’re heading to Fhirdiad to kill Cornelia and liberate the capital,” Byleth answered, lightly tapping his armored fingers against his sword hilts. “We’ll have to go with them, if they want to even stand a chance against the Titanus defending the walls.” 

“Titanus?” Marianne asked, swallowing a nervous lump that formed in her throat. 

“Monsters made of metal and ancient technology,” Byleth answered. “Even I had issues going up against one of them, and Cornelia has who-knows how many at her disposal.” 

“Oh,” that sounded terrifying! 

And if even the Professor had had issues fighting just one of them... 

“What are you two going to do?” the professor was speaking again, asking a question. 

Marianne shook her head to clear the gloomy thoughts. “M-me? Um... I don’t really know.” 

“Well, I came with you to help Marianne, and my brother is probably just waiting for me to come home so he can shower me with praise,” Hilda sighed. “And Claude is going to make me work to shore up our defenses against the Empire...” 

“Hilda, being put to work? Such a travesty,” Byleth deadpanned, drawing a giggle from Marianne that she only partially stifled with her free hand. 

Hilda scoffed and gave him a pout, complete with the puppy-dog eyes. “You could stand to be a bit nicer, professor! I thought I was one of your favorite students!” 

“You were, when you weren’t trying to weasel out of everything Hanneman tried to get you to do,” Byleth responded, a hint of a smile curving the corners of his lips. “Are you two going to head to Dierdru?” 

“I probably will,” Hilda nodded, her gaze shifting to Marianne. 

“Um, I have to talk to my stepfather, but... after I, um, I’ll join you!” she stammered as her mind short-circuited for a moment. 

The professor nodded. “Stay safe, both of you. I hope to see you after all of this is over.” 

Hilda nodded, giving him a rather flirtatious wink. “As do I, professor! We’ll have to meet together for food sometime, won’t we?” 

That tiny curving of his lips partially widened. “I would like that.” 

He turned away and motioned for the Elites to follow before pausing. “It was good to see you, Marianne. If you ever need anything, let me know.” 

“I will, Professor,” she nodded, feeling a smile curve her own lips. 

This had certainly not been what she’d expected to happen, but if this was what the Goddess had planned for her, then who was she to argue? 

“Good-bye, Professor,” Marianne nodded, her heart feeling a thousand pounds lighter as the warrior-professor walked off into the mist with his Elites in tow. 

“Come on, let’s go check in with the Margrave,” Hilda said, reaching over and grabbing Marianne’s hand before tugging her in the direction of the estate. “He’s going to be floored when you show him that Relic!” 

Right... Blutgang hummed softly in her hand, sending a pulse of warmth through her veins.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hundreds of miles away, in the ancient halls of Shambala, the last of the tombs ground open, belching purple smoke as a dark form clad in ancient armor emerged from within. He reached up and grabbed the black saber hanging above his head, making the weapon pulse with red light. 

“My king, thank you for giving me this opportunity,” Maurice of the Elites intoned, closing his ashen eyes to picture the visage of his descendant. “And you, little one... I hope you will forgive me for the burden my Crest has placed upon our line. Hopefully our curse will end with this.” 

His purpose clear, the ancient warrior sheathed his sword and hurried through the dusty halls, heading to where his king was waiting. 


	21. Seeking Ghosts

Edelgard’s entire body ached as she finally slunk into her throne and adopted her stern Imperial visage, gazing out at the many advisors and generals lined up before her, chattering softly amongst themselves while they waited for her to settle in. 

“Your Majesty, we have reports that the Kingdom and Liberation armies are heading towards Fhirdiad,” Hubert spoke up, his tight voice clipping through the aimless chatter and silencing the others. 

“Will Cornelia be able to hold the city?” one general pondered. 

“I doubt it: with the reborn King of Liberation and the Ten Elites, we might as well hand over the Dukedom on a silver platter to those bastards,” another growled, fidgeting with the sling holding his left arm. 

“She has those metal doll things, doesn’t she? She can hold,” the first general insisted. 

“Against eleven Relics brought out of who-knows-where?” 

“What even are those things?” 

“Can we win?” 

“Enough!” Edelgard snapped, forcing every bit of authority she had into those words. 

Everyone clammed up immediately, all eyes falling on her. 

“While it is true that this... Liberation Army has imitations of the Ten Elites and their Relics, they will not be able to last for very long against the full might of the Empire,” she declared, trying to force herself to believe the words as much as she could. 

“Your Majesty, forgive me for appearing insubordinate, but you saw what happened at Gronder Field,” the general with the arm in a sling spoke up hesitantly. “Nemesis-” 

“He is not Nemesis,” the harsh words snapped out from her lips before she could stop them, making the general and several others flinch at the intensity of her tone. 

“Forgive me, Your Majesty! Byleth Eisner now has two Swords of the Creator, both of which enabled him to tear through both of the rebel armies with ease, while his Elites almost single-handedly separated the battle lines,” the general hastily corrected himself, and Edelgard made a herculean effort to control her tongue. 

“We were utterly at their mercy,” another advisor nodded, one of his eyes covered by a stained bandage. 

“We were ambushed all across the field, overrun by sheer numbers while our own soldiers were already exhausted from fighting the Alliance and the rebels,” Edelgard reminded them. “The confusion and the sudden appearance of these warriors allowed them to grip our forces by the throat, something I do not plan on ever allowing to happen again.” 

“What’s to stop them from simply doing that here? They could cover the city in ash and overrun us before we have a chance to mount a defense.” 

“Unlikely,” Hubert growled. “It took those soldiers a long time to gather enough ash to form themselves, almost an hour of constant ash fall being needed before they began to emerge. If they tried to do that here, we’d have ample warning and time to place defenses.” 

That seemed to help: many of the men and women present relaxed slightly now that the threat of immediate invasion was dispelled. 

“The Alliance has made no further moves to invade our lands, instead choosing to bolster their border defenses,” one of the eastern generals mused. “After losing so many on Gronder, it is unlikely that they will continue to fight us unless we make to invade them.” 

“Agreed,” Edelgard nodded. “Claude isn’t foolish: he knows that the Alliance cannot face the Empire head-on after the losses it has sustained. He’ll defend his borders and let the Liberation Army run loose until he sees an opportunity to land a crippling blow.” 

“Which again leads us back to the issue of that army currently making a beeline to Fhirdiad,” Hubert folded his arms, distaste evident on his face. “I have no illusions about Cornelia’s ability to hold the city against one army, let alone two, especially since the professor and Dimitri are at their heads.” 

“Not to mention the Knights of Seiros currently camped on the Great Bridge of Myrddin along with a large Alliance garrison,” Randolph muttered, clenching a fist. 

“Should we attack them?” another general wondered. “Wipe those bastards off the face of the earth?” 

“Not yet: we do not yet have soldiers to spare for such an assault, and Gronder Field left Fort Merceus and Enbarr with a scarce garrison. It will take time to redirect soldiers from the west to strengthen our borders while at the same time preparing our forces in the Faerghus Dukedom to face Dimitri,” Edelgard shook her head slowly. 

This was a damn fine mess they were now facing. The Empire had almost won, and now they were likely going to be driven back on all fronts. 

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, why should we waste manpower and resources in helping Cornelia?” Hubert spoke up slowly, which drew surprised murmurs from the others. “She betrayed the Kingdom to further her own selfish ambitions, and it is likely that she will turn on us the moment she realizes this is a fight she cannot win.” 

“It would be foolish of her to do so: she ordered the regent’s death as well as Dimitri’s own,” Edelgard shook her head again, feeling a faint crick in her neck from doing so. “If Dimitri gets his hands on her, she will not survive even if she defects.” 

Because Byleth had shifted that beast’s obsessive rage from Edelgard onto Cornelia. That woman was not going to escape this alive, no matter what. 

All that remained where the Agarthans who were possibly still scattered about Fodlan, including the ones sequestered in Rhea’s prison below the palace. Those bastards had locked themselves inside the moment they’d lost contact with Thales, and all of Edelgard’s attempts to coax them out or drill and blast her way inside had failed. 

And so they languished beneath her home, a filthy shadow lingering just under her heels, yet she was unable to crush them. As for Rhea... well, she didn’t really care what happened to the Archbishop at this point. Maybe the bitch would serve as bait for her deluded faithful to get them in Edelgard’s grasp. 

“What are we to do?” Randolph asked, giving a voice to all of their thoughts. “Just wait and see what N- uh, Byleth does?” 

Everyone had taken to calling him the new Nemesis, or even Nemesis reincarnated, which annoyed Edelgard to no small end. 

“We need to reorganize and focus on strengthening ourselves,” Edelgard decided. “I would prefer to hold onto Fhirdiad, but it is clear that we would only be wasting soldiers and materials in attempting to keep the city. Withdraw our forces from the Dukedom back into the Empire.” 

“Should we abandon Arianrhod?” Hubert asked, a frown on his lips. 

“Absolutely not!” one of the northern generals bellowed, only for one of the Royal Guards to jab the man with the hilt of his axe. “Er, forgive me, Your Majesty. If we abandon Arianrhod, then we leave the northwestern borders of the Empire completely open to invasion! We cannot allow Faerghus to reclaim that stronghold!” 

“Their armies are decimated, as are ours,” Edelgard fought the urge to massage her temples as a dull throbbing pain began to pound her. “Even if they do take Arianrhod, they cannot hold it for long.” 

“Even if the western nobles pledge themselves to the Kingdom again? They’ll be flooded with new soldiers and supplies and will have absolutely no issue holding Arianrhod,” someone else pointed out. 

“It will depend on how well-trained they are, which we have little knowledge of thanks to Cornelia running everything. We should have disposed of her sooner,” Hubert muttered. 

All of this bickering was making her headache worse. 

“We’ll pull everyone back and bolster our defenses,” Edelgard declared, her firm voice dispelling any desires to argue with her decision. “I don’t want any unnecessary casualties, but we take as many supplies from the Kingdom lands as we can. Burn what you can’t take.” 

“You plan to starve them?” one of the generals frowned. “Is that wise, Your Majesty?” 

“We need the Kingdom to be as weak as possible before we deal with this Liberation Army,” she explained. “Hungry armies do not move quickly, and Dimitri will be forced to temporarily abandon any notions of revenge against the Empire to feed his people. It will give us time to recover from Gronder.” 

“A wise decision, Your Majesty,” Hubert bowed. “You have your orders, dismissed.” 

The generals and advisors bowed before hurrying away, their footfalls echoing from the marble walls. 

“Am I making a mistake, Hubert?” she asked once they were alone with the Royal Guards, who were sworn to secrecy with their lives. 

“The professor’s interference has made this much more difficult than it needs to be,” he answered with a scowl. “What I cannot comprehend is why he is working with Dimitri and Claude rather than joining us in uniting Fodlan. Or why he didn’t just force all three of you to surrender to him back on Gronder Field, when we were all helpless before him.” 

“I think I understand,” she murmured, a bitter smile forming on her lips even as her heart warmed within her chest at the mention of Byleth. “He’s still thinking like he’s a professor and we’re his students. He’s trying to cordon us off from one another, to push us back into our borders and force us to play nice.” 

“He’s still acting as if this war is simply a bunch of students misbehaving rather than a conflict for the future of Fodlan,” Hubert shook his head in annoyance. 

“He was asleep for five years, so I don’t know if he understands the significance of what is going on here,” Edelgard rested her head on her hands as another idea reached her. “Or, maybe he does and he’s trying to get this war to calm down before widely spreading the knowledge of this church of lies. I’m sure word is already spreading from Claude and Dimitri into the countryside, but Byleth might use the uneasy peace that follows to shift the blame from me onto Rhea and the Church of Seiros.” 

“I do not think that would work well, Your Majesty,” Hubert sighed, shaking his head. 

“I don’t know what else he might do,” Edelgard sighed as well, rubbing her temples again and swiping at a stray strand of white hair that dangled before her eyes. 

Her armor was so heavy... even with her Crest-infused strength, her exhaustion from the battle and all this chaos was beginning to take its toll. 

“All we can do is wait and see, I suppose,” Hubert muttered. “Loathe as I am to say such a thing.” 

Edelgard pushed herself to her feet, glancing out the grand windows of the palace at the dying sun painting the skies with blood and flames. 

“It seems that is all we can do,” she agreed, the words bitter on her tongue. 

“You should rest, Your Majesty,” Captain Camus murmured. “You’re exhausted.” 

She wasn’t going to complain, now, but her mind would be muddled and her body weak if she neglected her rest. 

“Very well,” she sighed, nodding to her guards. “I’m returning to my quarters.” 

They filed in around her and escorted her, a clanking cacophony of metal and leather back to the Emperor’s grand suite. As she pushed the door open and strode inside, feeling the absence of her axe even more keenly, four guards took up positions outside while the others conducted a sweep of the rooms for intruders. 

There were none, but Edelgard couldn’t afford to take risks with the Agarthan worms slithering just beneath her home. 

“It’s clear, Your Majesty,” Camus reported. “And nothing appears to have been tampered with, your paintings included.” 

She fought the blush that threatened her cheeks at the mention of those paintings, forced herself to nod. 

“Your Majesty!” a voice from her bedchambers made the guards cluster into formation around her. “Some papers are missing from your desk! Some envelopes, I think?” 

“Envelopes?” Edelgard frowned. 

The only envelopes that had been on her desk had been... the letters she’d been writing to Byleth over these past five years! Who the hell would have taken those?! 

“I’m not seeing any signs of tampering, otherwise! Should I bring a mage in to test the room for runes or spells?” the guard from inside the room called again, and Edelgard imagined the loyal woman standing in front of the door, fully prepared to take the brunt of anything a potential trap would throw out at her Emperor. 

“No, you would have seen something,” all the guards were trained to detect more obvious magical traps, but the more intricate ones would have required much more time than this interloper would have had. 

The guards remained around her in a protective shell as they squeezed their way into the room at Edelgard’s behest, the one who’d called out from within keeping her armored body in between the Emperor and the desk the envelopes had been on. 

Aside from the missing letters, nothing else appeared to have been touched or had a spell cast upon them, so Edelgard saw no reason to assume that whomever had entered her chambers had left anything behind. 

The people she had watching the Agarthan holdouts hadn’t reported any of the slithering bastards moving around or even unsealing the dungeon, so it couldn’t have been them, unless they still had contact with their brethren elsewhere in Fodlan and had called upon one such degenerate. 

“I am not seeing any signs of planted explosives or otherwise,” Camus reported. “But perhaps it would be prudent to move you elsewhere for the night while we conduct a more thorough sweep of the suite, Your Majesty.” 

Edelgard shook her head. “I see no reason to take such precautions: it appears this intruder was only after my letters, and I did not write anything within that could damage our war effort.” 

Only my pride, she thought bitterly. 

“Are you certain, Your Majesty?” Camus frowned. “Should we search for this thief?” 

“I am certain, captain. Ask around to see if anyone saw someone suspicious lingering near my chambers if you must, but I doubt much will be found,” Edelgard rubbed her tired eyes as the dull ache of her headache continued to hammer at her temples. “I have some reports and requests I need to handle, but you can post guards throughout the suite if it will assuage your worries.” 

“Yes, Your Majesty!” 

Edelgard seated herself at her desk and glared at the papers demanding her attention and/or signature, mentally bracing herself as she took her quill and dipped it into the inkwell. 

Sometimes, she really hated being Emperor. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Well, it looks like we moved too quickly,” Byleth commented, mostly to himself, as the reports coming in from his scouts came in. 

In the days that followed the clash in the Dark Forest, his forces had marched hard to make it to Fhirdiad, only for Dimitri’s exhausted army to lag behind. Fhirdiad was so close, so tantalizingly close, but he couldn’t just march into the city and take it on his own. 

Well, Byleth mused, he supposed he could, but that would defeat the purpose of having Dimitri take it himself. The future king needed to liberate Fhirdiad, not a ghost inhabiting new flesh. 

“It’s so cold!” Flayn squeaked at his side, her breath escaping in huffs of mist as she shivered despite the heavy furs covering her almost from head to toe. 

She looked like a cocoon, to be frank, and somehow she was still cold. Byleth didn’t notice the chill: the warmth smoldering through his veins chased it away and his undead army was utterly unaffected. 

Well, he amended with a scowl, almost unaffected. Several of the squadrons had waded through a frigid river and had turned their legs into icicles, needing to be hauled along by their fellows while their flesh thawed out. Many had lost toes, feet, or even entire legs to the ice, but they kept going, would keep going until the dark magic animating them was destroyed. 

“Anyone have any more extra furs to give Flayn?” Byleth called to his troops again, looking out at the silent expanse of dark silhouettes filling the forest. 

There were no fires, since the undead needed none and Byleth didn’t want to risk Cornelia discovering that an entire army had appeared on her doorstep. They would stay in the northern forests outside of Fhirdiad, far enough back that none of the Imperials and Dukedom soldiers could look out a window and spot them, but close enough to monitor the city. 

Lamine shuffled forward with another heavy fur cloak in her hands, draping the garment around Flayn as the girl chattered out her thanks and wrapped her cocoon even tighter around herself. 

“Perhaps you should conjure a small flame for the girl?” Mercedes’s ancestor prompted as she studied Flayn. “I do not think it will be spotted from the city.” 

Byleth looked out across plains stretching to Fhirdiad’s stone walls, a sense of panging familiarity resonating from deep within as the Crest of Flames grew warm inside of him. The darkness lightened as if fire had burst to life within his eyes, painting the world with a golden hue and sharpening his eyesight. 

“I agree with your assessment, Lamine: there are no defenders on the wall at the moment,” he turned back to Flayn and strode over to her, grunting as his cape snagged on a branch before yanking it free. 

He sat next to Flayn on the hard ground and held a hand up in between them, willing his Crest’s power to fill his palm with an orb of golden flames. A flare of light birthed the tiny campfire, the light dim and quickly hidden behind a screen of ashen bodies as warmth embraced both of the only living members of the Liberation Army. 

“Oh, that feels heavenly!” Flayn sighed, shuffling closer and holding out hands covered in thick woolen mitts. “Thank you, Professor!” 

“I’m sorry you’re so cold, but I’m glad this is helping,” he answered, a faint tug from within drawing his attention northeast. 

Flayn shuffled even closer, concerns of her cocoon catching fire momentarily slithering into Byleth’s mind. 

“Lamine, do you know what territory lies to the northeast of here?” he asked the Elite, sensing his other warriors crowding closer in response to his voice. 

“The northeast? That would be the holdings of my Crest bearer, the one who always has women clouding his mind whenever he has free time,” Gautier was the one who answered. “Beyond that would be the nation of Sreng, I believe.” 

“Sreng...” hadn’t Nemesis said something about Macuil being there, long ago? 

“What’s wrong, Professor?” Flayn asked, her light green eyes boring into him. 

“I’m feeling... some powerful presence in Sreng,” he explained. “Something ancient.” 

Flayn’s eyes widened. “Is it dangerous?” 

“I think so, but I am not entirely certain,” Byleth frowned. “Since Dimitri’s army is so far behind, perhaps it would be wise to check it out just to make sure it isn’t a nasty surprise the Church or Empire is planning to unleash upon us.” 

“Why do you think it’s the Church?” Flayn asked, defensive walls rising around her. 

Cethleann to the very core, still, it would seem. 

“I understand that you are a faithful saint to the Church of Seiros, but even you have to admit that keeping an entire nation enthralled to your personal beliefs to keep your people in power isn’t exactly saintly,” Byleth kept his little flame burning even as Flayn glared at him. “Seiros murdered and executed many people to keep the Church in power, using faith as a tool with which to keep you and the other children of Sothis in control of Fodlan.” 

“I wasn’t controlling anything!” Flayn spluttered. “I’ve been sleeping since...” 

She trailed off, longing and pain in her voice and eyes. 

“Forgive me: I know you haven’t done anything wrong, so it was unfair of me to loop you into what Rhea has done,” Byleth reached out and lightly squeezed Flayn’s shoulder with his free hand. “I... think I still have too much Nemesis in me...” 

“Professor... do you still feel him?” Flayn asked, concern in the eyes peeking out of her cocoon of furs. 

“I do, to an extent. He doesn’t speak to me but I can feel him guiding me from time to time,” Byleth swallowed a lump that formed in his throat as the memory of Nemesis choking the girl with Byleth’s body resurfaced. “Flayn, I... don’t think I ever apologized for what... I did to you during Edelgard’s invasion of Garreg Mach.” 

The ancient fish-loving girl hesitated. “Oh, Professor, I know that wasn’t you who did that! You don’t need to apologize! But if it makes you feel better, I forgive you!” 

The weight on his heart lessened slightly. “Thank you, Flayn.” 

She nodded as much as her cocoon allowed. “So, are we going to check out this ancient power?” 

“I don’t see why not,” he nodded. “If only to make sure that it’s not a threat to the villages.” 

Flayn pumped a fist excitedly. “Ooh, another adventure! Let’s get going, Professor! I hope it’s warmer up in Sreng!” 

Byleth chuckled. “As do I, if only for your sake. Charon; Blaiddyd; Goneril: I want you three to stay here and keep an eye on the city with the army. The rest of you will come with me to Sreng.” 

“Yes, my king!” 

“Maurice should be on his way here shortly,” Fraldarius was cleaning her lance and her black shield, the Relic humming softly at her touch. “I don’t know how long it will take him to arrive, however.” 

“My king, we should move quickly if we are to get to Sreng before the Kingdom army arrives,” Gautier informed him, patting the side of his heavily armored warhorse. “I can carry you while Riegan can carry the Saint girl.” 

“Alright,” Byleth nodded, approaching the towering beast and swinging onto its saddle with as much grace as he could muster with the heavy plate and the cape weighing him down. 

Gautier climbed on behind him, armor clanking and chain mail rattling as he settled himself into position. “I’d make yourself as comfortable as you can, my king: it will be about a day’s ride to get to Sreng. We should be back in plenty of time to support the heir of Blaiddyd.” 

“Let’s just get up there, make sure this presence isn’t a threat and deal with it accordingly if it is,” Byleth looked over at where the other Elites were gathering and where Riegan finally hauled the fur bundle that was Flayn onto the saddle with him. 

Gautier urged his mount forward, the beast’s powerful muscles propelling it as it thundered through the forest. The other Elites followed as quickly as they could, the tireless infantry and mages lagging behind the cavalry but remaining in sight as the wind whipped across their faces. 

Byleth settled himself into the saddle as best as the uncomfortable jostling allowed, gripping the horn with one hand to keep himself upright. Part of him was tempted to start reading the letters Edelgard had written to him, but the repeated jostling made that whim unwise. 

Perhaps if he could find some peace in the nearby future that would allow him to look over his beloved’s words. 

For now, all he could do was wait and go along for the ride. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------- 

The lone Imperial scout was moving through the woods as quietly as he could, his scarlet jerkin and hood covered in mud and tears from where it had been snagged by branches. The Emperor had dispatched him and countless others to the south of the Myrddin river, close to the very edge of Fodlan’s eastern border below the Alliance, telling them only to look for something that didn’t quite belong. 

It was vague and annoying to all hells, but he couldn’t disobey a direct order from Her Majesty. 

It was getting dark and colder, so he would have to find a good place to set up camp for the night. He shivered and pulled his jerkin tighter around him to retain as much body heat as possible, his gaze roaming through the rapidly darkening forest. The birds were still singing, at least, filling the air with pleasant songs and chirps that made this misery slightly more tolerable. 

He pushed through the brush and thick growth, envisioning the hot meal and ale that would be waiting for him once he’d finished this assignment, letting that hope along with a bath push his weary body forward. 

“Been walking all day and found nothing but trees and more trees,” he grumbled, lifting a leather-covered hand to swipe at a leaf hanging from his bushy beard. “What the hells was the Emperor thinking sending us out here like this?” 

The birdsong stopped as if snuffed out by an unseen force, and the scout froze on the spot, his eyes roaming over the forest for the source of the disturbance. His mind was racing, adrenaline surging through his veins as he sought the form of one of the Empire’s known large predators. 

Bears, cougars, wolves... the list included some rather nasty critters. 

Then a bloodcurdling scream made his soul leap from his body and dive for a nearby bush, pressing his body to the cold and hard ground as much as he could. 

“W-wait, please!” a voice that the scout recognized-one of his mates from the scout corps- pleaded from a nearby grove. “Don’t kill me! I won’t tell anyone this is here! I promise! I got a wife and kids waiting for me!” 

The scout inched forward as quietly as he could, peeking through the bush currently jabbing its fingers into his flesh to a sight that chilled him to his very soul. 

A tall figure dressed in a pitch-black cuirass and plate armor was standing in the grove in front of him, a curved obsidian-black saber resonating scarlet light in his grasp as he gazed at the scene before him. Three other scouts lay on the ground in lifeless heaps, watering the earth in their blood while a fourth was kneeling before the warrior, hands clasped in desperation. 

Behind them, almost lost to the forest, was a pitch-black gate of sorts that radiated otherworldly light, a gaping throat that delved into the earth. 

“Please, don’t kill me!” the surviving scout was begging. “I won’t-” 

A flick of the ashen warrior’s blade silenced him, a pit of nausea gutting the scout as his friend’s carcass joined the others. Bile threatened to burn his throat, but he pushed it back down despite the icy fear and horror slithering through his mind. 

The warrior sheathed that ominous black saber and looked around, perhaps seeking stragglers. The scout all but slammed his face into the dirt, his heart hammering in his chest as he pleaded with whoever would listen that he would go unnoticed. 

After an eternity of his own pulse pounding his head, the scout dared to look up and almost sobbed with relief at the absence of the dark warrior. All that remained were the corpses of the other scouts and that black gate into the abyss. 

“I have to report this to Her Majesty,” he murmured, taking a moment to scribble down some notes about the landscape and where he figured this location was. 

At least he had something good to show for this. 


	22. The Wind Caller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, my friends! I've been working a lot more than usual lately along with working on three stories at once, but I thank you for your patience and as always appreciate whatever thoughts you have on this work! You're all awesome people!

That power was getting closer and closer, and Byleth’s skin was itching with each step through the sweltering desert. Flayn almost skipped along at his side, wiping her forehead but otherwise not complaining as the rising sun beat down upon them. 

“This is so much better!” she declared, annoyingly unaffected by the sand grabbing Byleth’s feet and slowing his progress. 

Like the rest of the mages in the group, she floated on a small cushion of air generated by her magic, rendering her immune to the sand’s clutches. 

“Better for you, maybe,” Byleth grunted, but he couldn’t resist a smile as the girl beamed at him. 

“Indeed it is, Professor! What do you think we’ll find out here?” she pointed at a narrow pass splitting open the red hills of craggy stone. “I think it’s coming from there.” 

They’d been sloughing through this godsforsaken desert for hours now, trying to track down the source of this unnatural signature while somehow not managing to anger the native villages and towns they’d snuck by. Daphnel, Gautier and Riegan had had to stay back since their horses had immediately experienced difficulties traversing the desert, but Byleth didn’t mind. 

The faster they moved and dealt with this, the faster they could get back to Fhirdiad. 

“Whatever we find, just stay close to me, alright?” Byleth said to the ancient former Saint. 

She nodded with enough energy to make her twin curls bounce. “Of course, Professor!” 

And yet...every step he took closer to that pass, to that power, there was a slow heat beginning to burn in the back of his head, something different than the desert. 

“We are close, my king,” Lamine cruised along at his side, her gem radiating red light as her veil covered her eyes from the sun. “Shall we send Fraldarius and Dominic ahead?” 

The aerial units were covering their approach from above, casting dark shadows across the blistering sands and the shimmering air. The heat didn’t affect Byleth too much, but he still had to squint to keep the shimmering and swaying pass in focus. 

“No, I don’t want whatever this thing is getting wind of us before we’re ready to strike at it if it’s dangerous,” Byleth shook his head. “We stay together.” 

“Yes, my king,” they fell silent as the sand slowly morphed into hard red stone. 

The power was almost too much to bear, sending waves of electricity through Byleth’s body while his vision started to swim with the raging heat smoldering through his skull. Was that Nemesis or his Crest reacting so violently to whatever this was? 

“Nemesis, if that’s you, calm the hells down,” he commanded mentally, but nothing changed. 

Damn it. 

The walls of the pass loomed overhead on either side, giving some blessed refuge from the boiling sun as the group drew closer to the entrance to whatever place this thing dwelled in. 

“Professor, are you okay?” Flayn was tugging on his arm, her eyes wide with concern. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I feel...either my Crest or Nemesis acting up, like they don’t like what’s waiting for us.” 

“How are you feeling?” she asked, her grip tightening. 

“Hot, but not from the desert. This feels different, like when my Crest is burning inside of me,” Byleth could barely make out what was in front of him as his vision began to swim, tinting itself red. “I have a bad feeling about this.” 

“Should we hang back and let the Elites go forward?” Flayn mused, but Byleth shook his head. 

“No. If this thing manages to destroy even one of them, this war will become much more difficult to contain,” he pushed forward, the blurry canyon spreading out into a wide valley with equally blurred buildings off in the distance. 

A shrieking roar pierced the air, one that rattled Byleth’s very core: he knew this sound. 

“Oh!” Flayn gasped, a hand going to her mouth as if she, too, recognized the source of this roar. “It’s-” 

A massive form crashed to the earth in front of them, making the ground shake while torrents of sand and dirt were thrown into the air. A titanic beast with green scales and feathers reared its serpentine neck, a beaked head more akin to a bird leering down at Byleth and Flayn. 

“NEMESIS!” it screamed with a powerful timbre that shattered the very air. “AT LONG LAST I WILL DESTROY YOU!” 

“Macuil,” the name stirred unpleasant rage from deep inside, the sheer hatred almost clogging Byleth’s throat. “All of you, go back to the entrance, now!” 

The Elites took off immediately, as the dragon stomped forward, its beautiful green scales flashing in the harsh sunlight. 

“Uncle, wait!” Flayn, tiny and brave little Flayn, interposed herself between the ancient dragon and the resurrected king, her hands spread out defensively. “Stop!” 

The dragon balked, letting out a screech of strangled surprise, its taloned feet stomping the earth and kicking up another small dust storm. 

“C-Cethleann?!” the ancient saint spluttered, eyes burning with rage again fixating on Byleth. “You! You dare take Cethleann hostage?! You filthy murderer!” 

“Uncle, enough!” Flayn shouted, her voice stern. “The professor has not taken me hostage! I am here with him of my own volition!” 

“Professor?” the massive dragon actually balked, looking utterly baffled as he stared at Byleth. “This is Nemesis, the King of Liberation who murdered everyone we ever cared about! Who laid waste to our home!” 

“I may be a host to the power of the ancient king, but I am not Nemesis,” Byleth spoke up, pushing through the enraged heat and beating it down. “My name is Byleth Eisner.” 

“I can smell the stink of the Elites nearby,” Macuil snarled. “What is the meaning of this? You bring this man who reeks of our ancient enemy and those who serve him right to me, Cethleann! How did you even find me?” 

“The power you radiate is hard to miss, especially since I am hosting the power of a man dedicated to hunting dragons,” Byleth sighed. “Not to mention the power of Sothis.” 

“Sothis? I thought I sensed her power, but...” the ancient saint glared at him. “You bear her bones, don’t you? That... disgusting weapon forged from the body of the one who gave us a home here. I respected Sothis and the place she’d made for us, but I wasn’t obsessed with her like Seiros was.” 

“Obsessed is the right word,” Byleth muttered, shaking his head. 

“Byleth is a professor at Garreg Mach’s Officer Academy,” Flayn stepped forward, getting the two back on track as they looked at her. “He was my professor, for a time, and then we realized that he carried Sothis’s soul and consciousness inside of him. They were fighting the Agarthans and got trapped in a forbidden spell, and Sothis fused their souls together in order to let them escape.” 

“Agarthans,” Macuil rumbled. “I remember those worms... banished and forgotten beneath the earth until Nemesis...” 

The massive dragon reared back and roared, splitting the very air and giving Byleth a skull-splitting headache. 

“What was that for?!” Byleth demanded, Macuil’s Crest burning on the creature’s snout. 

“You might carry Sothis’s soul, filthy mortal, but you also carry the soul of that murderer!” it reared back on its hind legs and spread massive wings. “As long as I live, I will destroy Nemesis at any cost!” 

Byleth sighed, his hands closing around the rough hilts of his twin Relics as he braced himself for the coming conflict. Nemesis had said something about Macuil holding a special hatred for mortals, but it appears he’d underestimated just how potent that hatred was. 

“Uncle, you will not hurt the professor!” Flayn stomped her foot in a rather childlike manner and put her hands on her hips, glaring up defiantly at the dragon that towered over both of them. “I forbid it!” 

The dragon looked down with an incredulous expression on its face. “You...forbid me? From destroying the monster that took my mate and offspring from me in Zanado? Who took your mother from you on Tailtean?” 

Oh, that explained Macuil’s hate. 

“Nemesis did all of that; Byleth didn’t,” Flayn stepped closer to Byleth and possessively wrapped her arms through his, the sheer difference in the size between the girl and dragon not quite comforting him. 

“Cethleann, step aside so I can kill the monster that destroyed our home,” Macuil ordered, a slow wind beginning to kick to life around them. 

“Byleth is not Nemesis!” Flayn’s grip tightened. “He is using Nemesis’s army and Elites to restore peace to Fodlan!” 

“And why should I care about Fodlan? Why should I care about those filthy mortals tearing each other apart?” Macuil snarled. “I fought alongside them once only to get revenge on the monster that destroyed our home, and now I have sequestered myself away here to escape your petty, short-lived gazes in peace.” 

“And you can continue to do so. We came here only because we sensed your power and were unsure if you were going to be a danger to Fodlan and its people,” Byleth slowly filled his lungs with the smothering, stinging air. “You have expressed no interest in the affairs of mortals, so we will leave you to stew in your hatred alone, just as you desire.” 

Macuil snarled again, faltering when Flayn shot him another glare, daring him to try something. 

“It was good to see you, Uncle, but we will leave you alone now,” she declared, pivoting on her heels and trying to drag Byleth in the other direction. 

“I think not,” Macuil’s growl made the girl halt. “The rest of those filthy mortals I couldn’t care less about, but I refuse to let that monster prance about with you, Cethleann. He will hurt you sooner or later, and I will not allow that to happen.” 

Byleth resisted the urge to sigh. “I have already sworn an oath to Cichol not to harm her.” 

“As if that matters to me. You are Nemesis: murderer, butcher, destroyer. There were many times over this millennium that I have regretted not taking part in the destruction of your kingdom, but now I finally have a second chance to destroy you!” the massive dragon roared again, rearing back and lifting scaled feet large enough to crush boulders. “Seiros will not steal my kill this time!” 

A brief gust of emerald-colored wind shoved Flayn away from Byleth and then wrapped her in a small cocoon, giving him only a moment’s notice to pull his twin Relics from his belt. 

“DIE!” Macuil’s scream howled through every pore on Byleth’s body as massive wings spread and then shimmered with magic. 

“Get close: he can’t use his wind magic as well if you’re right on top of him.” 

Byleth heeded the ancient voice and sprinted forward as fast as he could muster, his legs devouring the distance betwixt man and beast as wind continued to whip across his face. He could feel Macuil’s raging rancor all around him, growing thicker and heavier the closer they became. 

Macuil shrieked, and a wave of wind streaked outwards in a violent shockwave from his wings. Byleth gathered his strength and leaped high into the air, snapping both of his swords out towards the raging dragon. 

The whip-like blades sank into his scaled hide, drawing a pained roar from the creature, and then Byleth willed the weapons to snap back together, wind smacking him with invisible palms as he was reeled towards Macuil. 

“Insolent pest!” the ancient saint screamed, Byleth’s body jarring as his feet slammed into hard scales. “I will avenge all you have murdered!” 

“I’m not responsible for what Nemesis did!” Byleth protested, gripping the bone hilts as tightly as possible while Macuil bucked and roared with fury. 

His body jerked wildly as pain wracked his arms from the force of the heaving beast, blades of wind kissing his body and leaving miniscule scratches on the parts not protected by his armor. 

So, Macuil’s wind magic was less effective at an extremely close range, huh? Byleth supposed the dragon’s fangs, talons, and massive bulk made up for that as his head whipped back again from the force of the beast rampaging around. 

“Uncle, that is enough! Release me and stop attacking my professor!” Flayn’s voice was just barely audible over the howling wind and the roaring of the infuriated Macuil. “Stop this immediately!” 

Hot rage sparked through Byleth as he finally yanked his swords free and pushed off of Macuil’s flank, slashing at the closest leg. Grim satisfaction that wasn’t his own filled him as Macuil’s ancient scales parted with a shriek beneath the two swords, making the dragon howl in agony as dark green blood wept from the wounds. 

“Professor!” Flayn predictably protested. 

“I’m not going to kill him!” he shouted back, sprinting under the monstrous bulk of the dragon as legs thick enough to rival tree trunks tried to squash him, shaking the earth with each fall. 

All the bastard had to do was sit or just lower his body and Byleth would be crushed under the unfathomable weight of the dragon’s armored form. He slashed once, twice, three times at the thick scales as he sprinted towards the safety of the open desert, spraying more green blood from the ancient saint across the wastes. 

“NEMESIS!” Macuil shrieked, gouging deep furrows into the ground with his talons as he awkwardly moved his bulky body to face Byleth. “I WILL KILL YOU!” 

“So you keep saying,” Byleth muttered, a headache pounding his temples from the deafening volume the dragon was seeming to prefer. 

He was lucky, however, that the flow of time had seemed to slow the dragon and dull his reflexes. If Macuil had been any faster or stronger, Byleth would likely not be able to match the dragon so easily. 

He ducked beneath a swipe powerful enough to nearly rip his head from his shoulders just from the force of the massive paw swiping over his head, then opened up another weeping gash on one of the toes before it went out of reach. 

“Kill him! Kill them all!” 

Macuil roared, lifting his wounded foot and opening his beaked maw wide. The dragon’s Crest flared to life on his forehead and a massive twister of emerald power erupted from within his throat, spiraling violently towards Byleth and throwing sand in every direction possible. 

It was coming too fast, and Byleth felt his Crest burn even hotter inside his veins. His body moved on its own, snapping both Relics outwards and letting them spiral towards the oncoming gales. Each extended segment burst into golden flames and then speared the winds, feeding on the torrents to expand into fiery whips slashing outwards in every which way. 

Macuil shrieked as the flames scored his scales and danced across his feathers, igniting several and spitting embers in his wake. Byleth swung again and again, raking more black lines across Macuil’s green hide as the wounded dragon flailed in a vain effort to defend himself. 

A blazing black line wrapped around Macuil’s other foreleg, the one not gouged by the Sword of the Creator, and the black Relic erupted into flames while Byleth pulled with all of his strength. 

Off-balance and hurting from scores of burns and cuts, the massive dragon stumbled from the sudden pull before crashing heavily onto his wounded side with an agonized screech. His beaked head slammed into the ground mere feet away from Byleth, kicking up scores of sand as the earth shook from the impact. 

Byleth’s blades snapped back together and he strode towards the groaning, disoriented dragon, the desire to rip Macuil’s head off making his head spin with rage. 

“Professor!” Flayn was pleading from her faltering wind prison, desperation and fear in a voice high-pitched with horror. 

Byleth lifted his swords as Macuil focused a lone, bloodshot eye on him, hatred smoldering within the deep oceans of green held within. 

“Murderer,” a throaty rasp slithered out from its beak. 

“Professor, no!” 

Byleth swung. 

Macuil’s glare faltered as the Swords of the Creator slammed into the ground in front of his head, biting deep into the ground before halting. His iris swiveled from the swords to Byleth, waiting to see what would happen next even as embers were spat from the feathers that still burned on his massive body. 

“Professor?” 

“My name is Byleth Eisner, not Nemesis,” Byleth told the ancient dragon, his voice almost too loud in the deafening silence. “I have no desire to kill you.” 

The heat was fading, dimming along with the rage that belonged to a king of ghosts. 

“I do not blame you for being angry with me, given who I have within me and who I command, but I will not allow you to take your thousand-year anger out on me or Flayn,” Byleth pulled his swords free and slipped them back into place on his waist. “You want solitude so badly? Fine. We’ll leave you alone and never come back and you can stew in your rage for however long you have left.” 

He turned his back on the ancient saint and walked back towards Flayn, who was holding her hands up to her mouth in shock as tears welled up in her bright green eyes. Byleth swiped his hand through her prison and dispelled what was left of it, then held the hand out to Flayn. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here. We need to get back to Fhirdiad,” he said. 

“You are cruel beyond measure, making me think you were going to kill him,” she whispered, shaking her head with a heavy exhale but reaching out and taking his hand nonetheless. “Let us be off, Professor!” 

Byleth nodded, his gaze shifting away from a ghost of the long-distant past to the present and future as he and the girl once named Cethleann strode out of the Wind Caller’s lair and back to where the Elites were waiting. 

Fraldarius and Dominic were stationed on either side of the canyon entrance, dismounted and waiting patiently alongside their fellows for the duo’s return. 

“My king, we are pleased to see you safe and sound,” Lamine floated over to them, making a disapproving noise as she took in the small cuts crisscrossing Byleth’s unarmored flesh. “You are wounded. Allow me.” 

Ashen fingers brushed over the cuts, gentle magic closing each one. 

“My thanks, Lamine,” he nodded to the Elite, his gaze looking over the ancient warriors yet again. “Let’s mount up and get moving! We need to return to Fhirdiad as soon as possible!” 

Grim nods all around as Fraldarius and Dominic swung up onto their mounts while the others clustered in a defensive circle around Byleth and Flayn. 

“You should have killed it.” 

Should I? 

Byleth shook his head at the thought that sprang unbidden to his mind, focusing instead on the warmth of the hand still clutching his own. 

No. The old grudges would die here. 

He had a war to dismantle and a trio of stubborn kids- not kids, anymore, part of him griped- to smack some sense into. The hardest part would be settling things on Edelgard’s end, given that she was the one who’d started this whole bloody war and had plunged Fodlan into a half decade of violence and destruction, but Byleth was confident he could settle things peacefully. 

And once the dust settled, he would deal with Seiros and her church of deception and let Fodlan’s people choose their own future rather than being held at the throat by the old world. 

Then, he would see about his and Edelgard’s future and if she would even want him at her side after everything is said and done. 

“Let’s move!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, the whole part with Macuil's mate and children being killed by Nemesis is headcanon on my part as I don't think that actually happened (only had Flayn and Seteth talk to Indech with just Seteth talking to Macuil during those paralogues) but I wanted something that would really piss off Macuil and really make his hatred of mortals more believable.


	23. Our Ghosts

“Unbelievable,”  Byleth muttered as he moved through the ancient city of Fhirdiad, echoes of the past fallowing every step he took through the stones and alleys of a city older than the Empire. “I’m gone for not even two days and Cornelia pulls her entire army out of Fhirdiad and holes herself up in Arianrhod.” 

And she had done so under the noses of the watching Liberation Army without being detected once. 

Dimitri’s forces were still trickling in, with the future king having gone to the palace to take stock of the city and what was left. The Liberation Army was skirting around, heading for  Arianrhod in order to put an end to this nonsense, as Dimitri’s army was in no shape to perform any sort of siege. 

Byleth could feel the history of the city around him, it’s age. Every step made him feel as if he were walking through a memory, disjointed and almost separated from reality. He kept seeing people in clothes that none in the Kingdom wore, walking down paths that sent them through buildings as if they never existed. 

What the hells was going on?

“ Byleth Eisner?” a man in ragged blue-painted armor strode towards him, snapping him out of this strange haze. 

“What is it?” he turned to face the man, glad to have something more concrete, solid. 

“Prince Dimitri wants to talk to you in the palace, sir,” the knight reported. “Things aren’t looking good.” 

“I’ll head there immediately, thank you,”  Byleth nodded to the man and then pushed into the city of ghosts, ephemeral vessels occasionally crossing his path and vanishing if they drew too close. 

He moved without thought through the city, through the people real and not, until he was striding up great stone stairs to a massive keep. It wasn’t as impressive as  Enbarr , not with this dreary grey sky and bitter cold, but it was strong. 

He pushed through the gates and kept walking through the ancient halls until he found Dimitri and a few of the old Blue Lions standing around a conference table, their voices hushed with urgency and fear. 

“The Empire has withdrawn back to their western border, burning and stealing everything they can take from our people as they go,” Dimitri growled. “Cornelia attempted to follow her masters, but she was rebuffed and has taken those loyal to her to  Arianrhod and locked herself inside the Silver Maiden.” 

“Faithless cowards!” Ingrid spat, pacing back and forth as she fiddled with her light blue flight cuirass. “They’re trying to starve us out!” 

“And it’s working,” a rather haggard Sylvain reported, rubbing his bag-lined eyes. “Villages and towns all across the Kingdom are begging for succor, reporting mass starvation while others fight over what little is left. Cornelia has been running everyone ragged in our absence, and this is just the icing on the cake.” 

“Our troops can barely fight, let alone lay siege to the Kingdom’s strongest fortress,” Felix snarled. “Damn it all.” 

“You have already reclaimed your homes from the Empire,”  Byleth strode forward, all eyes immediately falling on him. “Let me take care of Cornelia.” 

“She’s one of those people you were talking about, right? These...Agarthans?” Dimitri’s clear blue eye bore into Byleth, a predator’s gaze. “And you think she was somehow behind the Tragedy of Duscur.” 

“I have a strong suspicion that she was,”  Byleth nodded. “I asked one of my Elites to scour Shambala for any information regarding Cornelia’s involvement in the Kingdom, but he has yet to arrive.” 

Dimitri nodded absently. “Make her end painful. I need to attend to my people and what’s left in the ways of supplies. I may have to start importing more goods from the Alliance if we are to reverse this famine.” 

“I’m certain you will find many merchant families willing to do business with you,”  Byleth nodded. 

“So long as the treasuries remained intact and Cornelia hasn’t utterly pillaged it in an attempt to further destabilize us,” Dimitri sighed. “The man I sent to check on them has yet to return, so I must remain in suspense as of now.” 

Byleth tried not to stare at the fur-clad warrior currently walking through the room’s closed doors and the table in pursuit of a woman dressed only in undergarments. “If Cornelia has any of the riches, I’ll safeguard them in Arianrhod until your people arrive.” 

“That is appreciated, Professor,” 

Byleth nodded. “If that’s all, I’ll get my forces ready to move out.” 

“Good hunting, Professor,” Dimitri murmured, turning his sour glare back to the table and the maps on them.

Byleth couldn’t find it in himself to answer with anything as he walked away. He got outside and turned back to look at the keep and the blue  Faerghus banners fluttering in the frigid breeze. It was like  Enbarr , but bleaker and grey and far more familiar.

Enbarr ...that reminded him: the amulet he’d gotten for  Edelgard before going to Shambala, before claiming Nemesis’s power for his own. He reached into his satchel and pulled the handkerchief-wrapped bundle out, watching the worn and somewhat faded travel-worn cloth fall away to reveal the gleaming gold beneath.

“How long has it been since I got this?” he murmured, examining the silver twin-headed eagle embossed upon its surface. “El...” 

“My king,”  Lamine strode over to him and bowed, her gem bleeding crimson light. “We are prepared to move on your command. I know we just returned home, but we have some insects to crush, do we not?” 

Byleth’s chest lurched as he looked at the ancient Elite. “Home?” 

Lamine rose and nodded, her veil swaying. “Yes, my king, do you not remember? This place used to be our home, our kingdom. This was your palace and those who lived here were your people. It’s been well cared for in our absence by the people of  Faerghus , but I see much has been done to improve upon it.” 

That explained this strange familiarity and the ghosts...this had been the kingdom of Nemesis, the one that had been sacked by rogue dragons over a thousand years ago. He could feel the history beneath is feet, all around him...had it always been called Fhirdiad? 

“In that case...welcome home,”  Byleth murmured not to himself or Lamine, but to the ancient king whose soul had merged with his own. 

As expected, he got no answer, but his heart did feel a bit lighter. 

“We move to the west, to  Arianrhod ,”  Byleth said to his Elite, who nodded.

“By your will, my king.” 

He rewrapped the pendant and, with great tenderness, slipped it back into his satchel. After this, he would return to her, to his El, and then they would take care of what would come next. And he still had those letters to read. Maybe he’d get a chance on the way to the fortress.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Your Majesty, we found the one who went through your quarters,” Captain Camus interrupted  Edelgard’s train of thought as she paused in her reading. 

“Oh?” she looked up from the reports, mildly disappointed that Cornelia had escaped the border guards but she could see that the Liberation Army was descending with blinding speed upon her stolen fortress,  Byleth at their head. 

What would her beloved do after  Arianrhod was overrun and the Agarthan slain? With the Kingdom impoverished and starvation rampant, Dimitri wouldn’t be able to launch a counterattack on the Empire anytime soon. 

Her door creaked open to admit the captain and. ..Petra ? 

“Petra? Were you the one who went through my office?”  Edelgard raised an eyebrow at her friend, who nodded. 

“I was knowing that you were writing letters to the Professor, and I was thinking that you were wanting them to be delivered to him, so I was taking them to him after the battle on Gronder,” the foreign princess reported, and Edelgard’s heart dropped into her stomach. 

“Y-you what?! Did you just tell me that you brought the letters to  Byleth ?!” she spluttered, embarrassment making her cheeks burn. 

Petra nodded, confusion on her face. “Yes. Were you not wanting the Professor to be reading the letters? You were writing them for him, right?” 

Edelgard buried her face in her gauntlet-covered hands. “Petra, I was writing those letters as...a  way to cope with  Byleth’s absence. I. ..never actually intended for him to read them!” 

“But...why would you be writing him letters if he wasn’t supposed to read them?” Petra looked utterly baffled. “Isn’t that the purpose of writing them?” 

“Yes and no, Petra. I was writing those to make myself feel better, to feel like...I was still talking to him,”  Edelgard admitted, somehow not biting her tongue in her attempt to fight down the embarrassment. “And you took them right to him...this is the most embarrassing thing that could have possibly happened.” 

“I don’t know, Your Majesty,” Camus spoke up. “Maybe it’s a good thing he has those letters? With all due respect, you wrote them for him, even though it was to cope with his absence, so he may gain a further understanding on what’s going on by reading them.” 

“Or he might just think I have lost my mind,”  Edelgard lamented, burying her face in her hands. 

Yet, part of her smoldering heart was lighter at the prospect of her beloved finally reading her letters to him. 

“I do not think the Professor will be believing that you have been losing your mind,  Edelgard ,” Petra spoke up. “He has too many feelings for you.” 

“Or he might just think I am a monster: I did start a continent-wide war that has killed thousands of people,”  Edelgard shook her head and exhaled slowly as the crushing weight of all she’d done threatened to slam her against the floor. “He probably thinks I’m just a murderer...” 

“Nonsense, Your Majesty!” Camus blurted. “You’re fighting to dismantle a corrupt system built on oppression and the tyranny of the Church of  Seiros ! You want to create a nation in which everyone has an equal chance of proving their worth, no matter the blood they carry or the gods they worship!”

Edelgard nodded, but it wasn’t like she needed a reminder of this corrupt, horrid Crest and Church-dominated system she was fighting to wipe out. She carried the scars from both on her and within her very spirit, had sharpened the broken edges of her soul into the weapon that would carve a new, brighter future for all of Fodlan.

There would be a beautiful new dawn at the end of this long, bloody night, and the only thing standing in her way was her beloved Byleth, the only person she’d ever fallen in love with. 

So, this is what Nemesis had been warning  Byleth of five years ago, back when the King of Liberation had constantly berated his host for ‘fraternizing’ with  Edelgard . 

“Our spies have the Liberation Army moving west towards  Arianrhod and Cornelia, who holed herself inside the Silver Maiden the moment the border guards failed to capture her,” Edelgard said, her eyes going back to the report. “And my scouts in the east think they’ve located the entrance to Shambala.” 

“The Professor’s underground city?” Petra asked. “What are you planning to do?” 

Edelgard straightened her spine and inhaled slowly, letting the scent of ink and aged paper fill her nostrils. “Destroy it. If we can eliminate the source of the Liberation Army, we may be able to prevent  Byleth from getting reinforcements and then whittle down his forces until he can no longer fight.” 

“Is that wise, Your Majesty?” Camus spoke up almost immediately. “We’d be leaving ourselves at the mercy of the reborn Elites and your  Byleth might not be willing to treat with us if we do. He did say he was attempting to shove everyone back into their borders before trying to make peace, did he not?” 

“Peace,”  Edelgard murmured, that beautiful dawn again beckoning from beyond this terrible bloodstained night. “The Kingdom and Alliance will never allow it, not as long as I live and the Empire goes unpunished for starting this war. Dimitri and Claude will demand my head, without a doubt, and I know Byleth would never agree with that.” 

He wouldn’t, not if his heart still burned for hers in the way she still smoldered for him. If their love still existed.  Edelgard’s heart warmed and skipped a beat at the thought of being with her beloved again, and she fought to regain her composure before she could make another fool of herself. 

“So, what’s the plan, Your Majesty?” Camus asked. 

“Petra, have you finished preparations for your trip to Brigid?”  Edelgard asked her friend, who nodded. 

“Yes, I am ready to be sailing home to be asking my grandfather for reinforcements,” the princess confirmed. “ Bernadetta has agreed to be coming with me.” 

“Good. Be careful, both of you: if the Church gets wind of this, they will certainly send someone to stop you. I have no desire to lose either of you like I already lost Ferdinand,”  Edelgard swallowed the lump that formed in her throat whenever she thought of her old self-proclaimed rival. 

Heavens forfend, she actually  _ missed _ him! 

“Hubert will take charge of destroying Shambala and take whatever reinforcements he needs, save for the garrison of  Merceus , which the Death Knight will be commanding,”  Edelgard decided. “Linhardt and Caspar will lend their strength in its defense and Dorothea will remain in the city to help coordinate the evacuation if necessary.” 

“ Merceus ?” Camus frowned. “Do you expect an invasion?” 

Edelgard nodded. “I have little reason to believe that our neighbors will allow our borders to remain unchallenged for long while the Professor tries to force everyone to play nice. Claude and Dimitri will certainly try to tip the scales of this war in their favor before  Byleth can interfere on my behalf, so we must be ready to repel them.” 

“As you command, Your Majesty. Do you really think  Faerghus will be able to muster an army the way they are?” Camus asked. 

“The western Kingdom nobles who capitulated to us at first still have most of their forces intact, even with us burning and taking  everything we could,”  Edelgard sighed. “With luck, we will be able to fortify our defenses before Dimitri can rally them to his cause and gain a more rested and better equipped army than what he’s been slogging around with for the past few years.” 

“As you say,” Camus bowed and then departed to retake his position outside of the suite, Petra quickly doing the same and leaving Edelgard alone with her thoughts. 

“ Byleth ...what path is even open to us at this point? I would have given everything to have you walk by my side throughout this madness,” she murmured, shaking her head as the war continued to collapse around her. “The future of  Fodlan will rest on our shoulders, one way or another.” 

Edelgard looked over her shoulder at the painting she’d moved into her office: the beautiful portrait of  Byleth , his lips curved into that full smile that he only seemed to reserve for her. 

“My love, I. ..I do not think this war will end so long as one of us remains alive. I will not give up on my ambitions, even at the very end, but...I don’t want to kill you,” gods damn it, she was babbling like a fool! “ Byleth ...somedays I wish I could go back to our days at the academy, where we could spend as much time as we wanted together, lazing about and eating sweets...” 

No, she mustn’t allow the past to weigh her down, not if she was to find a way out of this predicament. She had Rhea, yes, but she also had no way of breaching the Agarthan defenses around the bitch and thus had no way to use her as a hostage. 

Then again...none of her opponents knew that  Edelgard couldn’t get to Rhea at the moment, so perhaps she could use that in her advantage. 

All this would take was careful timing and perfect execution.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as the Professor’s army left Fhirdiad, Dimitri returned to the audience chamber and found Claude’s envoy waiting, seated in one of the cushiest chairs they could find on short notice while the second-cushiest chair rested on the other side. 

“Forgive my lateness: I had to wait for the Liberation Army to depart,” he bowed his head in respect to the envoy, who rose and bowed deeply in response. 

“No harm done, Your Highness,” Judith von  Daphnel , Claude’s second-in-command, said as she straightened. “So, have you thought over the boy’s proposition?” 

A faint grin tugged Dimitri’s lips at the way this fierce Hero of  Daphnel referred to her commander. “I have, and I agree with Claude:  Edelgard is too dangerous to left alive and we cannot trust our Professor to hand out the proper justice.” 

Judith nodded, a grim look on her face. “If what Claude has been describing to me is true, then we’ll have to mete justice out on our own before your Professor can get in the way. To think the reborn King of Liberation is in love with the Emperor of Adrestia...we need to take this opportunity before he can interfere.” 

“Agreed: I admire the Professor but his love for  Edelgard will likely allow her to skirt the worst of the war’s consequences regardless of the fact that she started it. She is the one responsible for all this death and destruction, and she needs to pay for it with more than just the slap on the wrist that the Professor will likely give her,” Dimitri marveled again at how surreal it was to finally be free of the ghosts that had been haunting him, to be free of the immeasurable weight of the dead. 

He could think, now, and he could feel another titanic weight crushing his shoulders: responsibility and guilt taking the place of the screaming ghosts. He’d killed so many people...even innocents, and it wasn’t even just killing. He’d murdered those people, ripped them apart in ways no sane human being ever would. 

Edelgard had been right in calling him a savage beast back on  Gronder , but she was just as guilty, had just as much blood coating her hands. Dimitri would pay for his crimes, was already paying for them, but  Edelgard needed to pay far more. 

Maybe he could have helped her, maybe he could have unmade this monster that the little girl he’d been so close to had become. But she hadn’t even remembered him five years ago, or perhaps she just pretended not to in order to escape her past.

“So, while our new Nemesis is off besieging  Arianrhod , you’ll move the reserves from the western nobles south and join our own forces in invading the Empire from  Myrrdin ?” Judith asked, the finality in her voice another nail readying itself to be pounded into  Edelgard’s coffin. 

“What reserves we have, yes,” Dimitri sighed. “Cornelia has been starving the territories who’d yielded to her and the Empire burning everything as they retreated from Fhirdiad hasn’t helped us at all. The army that was with me is exhausted, so I’m afraid Faerghus doesn’t have too much to offer.” 

A sour look crossed Judith’s face. “Which is why I’m glad I brought so much food with me. I know Claude anticipated you all being in bad shape, but he didn’t know it was this bad.” 

“And we are in your debt for your generosity,” Dimitri rumbled, a faint twinge in the back of his head making his Crest stir inside of him. 

Blaiddyd , the ancient one, was still there, still keeping the ghosts at bay. 

“You can repay us by helping us topple the Empire with everything you’ve got,” Judith said with a grim smile. “We’re going to have to hit  Merceus while the Imperials are still reeling from Gronder, and that’s not going to be an easy target by far. The boy has some plan, but he’s not telling me anything.” 

“The Kingdom and the Alliance are also in bad shape. It’ll take both of us to take on the Empire while it’s still spread thin,” Dimitri nodded. “And I’ve heard that the Death Knight has taken up the role of commander at  Merceus , aided by two of  Byleth’s former students.” 

Judith gave a slow nod. “I wasn’t at the Great Bridge when the Knights of  Seiros fought Ferdinand, but it’s clear to me that everyone  Byleth taught in the Black Eagles have grown into elite warriors.”

“They were the strongest class back then, and they’ve only become stronger over these past five years,” Dimitri mimicked her nod without meaning to, silently praying she wouldn’t take offense to it. “Our only saving grace might be that we have almost all of the Hero’s Relics in our hands and  Edelgard doesn’t even have the one she made anymore.” 

“She doesn’t?” Judith raised an eyebrow. “Claude didn’t say anything about that.” 

“The Professor took it from her on  Gronder when he disarmed all three of us. Claude and I got ours back afterwards, but  Edelgard fled without hers,” Dimitri explained. “Our Relics and the power stored within them might be the only way we can win this war.” 

Areadbhar , the Lance of Ruin,  Failnaught ,  Luin , Thyrsus, Aegis, the Rafael Gem,  Freikugel ,  Thunderbrand , and Crusher. It would be these weapons and the ones wielding them that would carry the hopes of  Fodlan and the dreams of a world without war. 

“So long as we can get the Knights of  Seiros ready to come with us, we’ll stand a chance at winning,” Judith nodded. “How soon can your reserves be ready to march?” 

“We sent  word shortly before we entered the city, while the Professor was off in  Sreng ,” Dimitri answered. “They should arrive by the day’s end, and  Arianrhod is maybe a day or two away, especially with how quickly the Liberation Army can move.” 

“So, we have maybe a week at the most to get everyone together, break down Fort Merceus, and take the fight to Enbarr,”Judith summarized, sighing as she shook her head. “Goddess, talk about a tall order. Can we even move our combined forces that quickly?” 

“We have no choice but to succeed, or else the Professor will interfere and save  Edelgard ,” Dimitri murmured. “It will be a tough fight, especially since we’ll be going directly to  Enbarr after  Merceus falls.” 

“We’ll be ready for it,” Judith declared, pushing herself to stand and bowing. “I look forward to fighting by your side, Prince Dimitri.” 

“And I by yours,” Dimitri bowed his head in response. 

His guest departed to take the news to Claude, leaving Dimitri to muster his reinforcements and send them crashing down onto the Empire. 

With the Alliance, the Kingdom, and the Church of  Seiros combined, none would be able to stand against their might. Or so Dimitri hoped. 

There was so much that could go wrong, so much that could bring the Liberation Army crashing down upon them before they even got close to  Enbarr , but they had to fight nonetheless. 

Dimitri reached into his heart and found that tiny fragment of himself that hoped that  Edelgard could be saved, that they could find a way to live in peace together like they had done so long ago, and he crushed it. 

There would be no peace as long as she lived, not anymore. 

As Dimitri stared at the two chairs in front of him, he could have sworn that the images of two young children took form on them: a boy with blue eyes and bright yellow hair and a girl with brown braided hair and light purple-hued eyes. 

“Come on, El!” 

“Let’s go, Dimitri!” 

The Prince of  Faerghus turned his back on the past and walked away, leaving behind two empty chairs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plans are going to start falling apart left and right, my friends! This shitshow is going to be fun, indeed.


	24. The Elite and the Saint

“Professor, do you feel that?” the fur-wrapped bundle that was Flayn squeaked out as they trudged along in the cold, wet sludge that was one of Faerghus’s roads, the ashen ranks of the Liberation Army pounding countless craters into the earth. 

Byleth frowned, reaching out with his senses but feeling only the smoldering embers from the army around him. “I don’t feel anything but the army.” 

They were maybe a day or two away from Arianrhod, and Byleth’s heart was heavy with the sights of the devastated Kingdom that they had witnessed on this westward march. Villages lay in ruins, their people either dead on the ground or clinging to what life they had left while scavenging for what scraps the Empire had left behind. 

Fields had been burned, storehouses and grain stores ransacked and destroyed while animals had been slaughtered in their pens and left to rot. Flayn, Lamine, and Gloucester had tried everything they could to save lives, but many of those who’d survived Cornelia’s tyranny were simply too far gone. 

Countless fresh graves followed in the wake of the Liberation Army, crudely hacked into the frozen or slushy ground by emotionless ash and Agarthan technology. 

“It’s coming from the north,” Flayn insisted, excitement in her muffled voice. “I know this feeling!” 

“What is it?” Byleth frowned; had Macuil followed them from Sreng? 

No, no, that was absurd: the entire countryside would have been erupting with news of a giant monster tearing its way west, and Macuil wouldn’t be bothered to interact with humans, let alone trample through their territory even if it was in pursuit of his adopted niece. 

“Come on!” Flayn took off with surprising speed for a cocoon of fur and leather, crashing through the undergrowth. 

“Flayn! Get back here!” Byleth swore under his breath, then turned his attention to his faltering army. “Keep heading towards Arianrhod! I’ll go after Flayn!” 

He raced off in pursuit of the former saint, branches slapping him across the face and scratching his armor as he pushed through the thick brush and fought with the mud snatching at his feet. 

“Flayn!” how the hell was she keeping so far ahead of him?! 

Her wooly form was dancing through the forest at least twenty feet or more in front of Byleth and the distance was only growing as she all but cruised through the forest, easily extricating her outer layers from the branches, thistles and thorns. 

What was north of here, anyway? Byleth slogged through the almost swampy land after the girl, racking his brain for the maps of Faerghus that he’d prepared for his students. North...north...Lake Teutates! Was that what Flayn was headed for? 

Byleth sighed and shook his head: he’d see where she was going when he ever caught up to her. If he ever caught up to her. 

He looked after the rapidly fleeing girl and mustered himself for an agonizing chase. 

The skies were grey and the brisk air was cold and bitter against Claude’s face as he surveyed the assembled forces gathering on the Great Bridge of Myrddin. Blue Kingdom banners fluttered alongside the silver and white of the Church and the gold and black of the Alliance, an army of three forces rallied to face the Empire and put it down once and for all. 

“We managed to get everyone here without alerting Teach, at least,” Claude murmured, plans and backup plans all running rampant through his mind as he tried to keep track of every outcome that could possibly crop up. 

So far, it looked like Byleth had committed everything he had to bringing down Arianrhod, not even leaving scouts or spies to watch the other nations and ensure that Claude wasn’t going to get up to any mischief. 

Like this. 

“I still don’t feel right about this,” Hilda strode up to him, worry shining in her pink eyes. “The Professor is really not going to be happy.” 

“Well, nobody will be happy if he just lets Edelgard off with a slap on the wrist,” Claude reminded her, all of the weight that had accumulated on his shoulders these past five years now crashing heavily down upon his body. “You saw how they were acting back on Gronder, Hilda: that crush that they have on each other has only gotten stronger, so the Professor really can’t be trusted to handle this fairly.” 

Hilda sighed and shook her head. “They were so cute back then, but now...I guess we have no choice, do we?” 

“Unless you’re up to seducing Teach?” Claude teased, which earned a world-weary sigh from the woman. “Doesn’t Lysithea also have a crush on him? We can use that, and she has white hair like Edelgard.” 

“Claude,” Hilda shook her head rapidly and motioned behind him. 

He sighed as an overwhelming magical power condensed at his back. “She’s standing right behind me, isn’t she?” 

“Yes, I am,” Lysithea’s seething voice answered, the crackling of magical energy making Claude’s fine hairs stand on end. 

“I don’t hear you denying anything,” Claude mused, well aware that he was possibly signing his death warrant here but gods-damn was this fun! “Okay, I have a plan: we dress up Lysithea like Edelgard and send her north to Teach. She pretends to be Edelgard fleeing from the fallen Imperial capital and the two of them go off and live a long, happy life together.” 

Silence. 

Sweat trickled down his body as he forced a chuckle to escape his lips. “So, uh, anything to add?” 

“You’re an idiot,” Lysithea spat, barely restrained fury making her voice tremble. “As if I will ever get a long, happy life with anyone...” 

“Hello!” the soft, musical voice of Mercedes preluded the appearance of the woman, herself, lips curled into a gentle smile that made everyone’s worries fade away. “Is everyone alright?” 

“Yeah, we’re fine!” Claude hurriedly answered before the short powerhouse currently glaring at him blasted him into nothingness. 

“Are you sure?” Mercedes reached down to absently run her fingers over the glowing red gem hanging from her neck. “Lysithea, you look upset. Is there anything I can do?” 

Lysithea visibly restrained her sharp tongue before backing away from Claude, inhaling deeply to calm her nerves. “Fine. I’m fine. Thank you, Mercedes.” 

“Say, Mercedes, care to tell me how you came to have that Relic?” Claude quickly redirected the attention from him to his unwitting victim. “You didn’t have it a while ago, right?” 

Mercedes hesitated, lifting her hand from the Relic. “Someone...close to me visited me one night and gave it to me, saying I’d need it more than he would.” 

“Family?” Claude guessed, intrigue rippling through his thoughts. 

“My brother, Emile,” the woman nodded. 

“Claude,” the Prince of Faerghus, himself parted the crowd as his massive frame dwarfed all beside him save for his metal-clad giant of a retainer. 

“Your Princeliness,” Claude bowed to the prince, who rolled his lone eye at the remark but at least he didn’t threaten to rip his head off. 

“Is everyone ready?” Dimitri asked, his enormous Relic pulsating with power. 

“We are,” Catherine and Shamir strode up to join the group, their eyes steely. “Are you certain that the Professor is going to be occupied long enough for this to work?” 

Dimitri nodded to Ingrid as she came out from behind her liege. 

“I scouted Arianrhod, myself,” the Falcon Knight affirmed, a grim expression on her face. “Cornelia has dug herself in well and has quite a few of those metal giants with her. It’s going to be a tough nut to crack, even for the Professor.” 

“And even if he does figure out what we’re doing, he has a very long way to go in order to catch up to us,” Gilbert and Felix’s father-what was his name, Roderick or something? -came up as well. “He will have to either fight his way through Imperial territory to go around the Oghma mountains to the west or follow us around the east over this bridge. We have the most straightforward route to Enbarr and time is on our side.” 

“My scouts have reported that Hubert has left Enbarr with a sizable force, heading east,” Claude nodded, soaking in the information and trying in vain to calm his nerves. “We thought they were headed here at first, but they skirted the bridge and are heading to where we think Teach’s underground city thing is.” 

“Shambala, he called it,” Lysithea spoke up, her hands clenched into fists. 

Whenever they spoke about these Agarthan people, Lysithea got angry or agitated, but she refused to say why and Claude had no desire to turn into a target dummy. 

“Lysithea, you seem to know something about those people,” Mercedes noted. “What’s wrong?” 

Something about this woman had a way of getting other people to relax, and Claude had long since given up trying to figure out how to emulate her. It would be handy if he could just talk to people and have them spill all of their juicy secrets on their own. 

Lysithea hesitated, and Claude was surprised to see Catherine, of all people, reach out and lightly squeeze the girl’s shoulder. 

“I...My family was involved was involved in a noble rebellion long ago,” she started slowly. “All we did was respond to a call for aid, but the incident failed and we were held responsible for the aid we gave. The Empire took over our House, killed key officials, and then...the mages came.” The girl swallowed, her eyes reflecting fear as memories bubbled up. “They experimented on the children of the House, performing horrible rituals with our blood. I...was the only one to survive.” 

Claude’s throat dried out with uncomfortable speed as cold dread and horror slithered up his spine. 

“What were those mages?” he heard someone ask. “Imperials?” 

“I didn’t know, not for the longest time,” Lysithea shook her head and inhaled shakily. “They wore strange masks and their skin was as pale as death. When the Professor was talking about Solon and Kronya...” 

“The Agarthans are responsible for experimenting on you? What happened?” Dimitri asked, controlled rage simmering in his lone eye. 

“I awoke one day with this shock of white hair, and the mages ran a test to find that...two Crests coexisted inside of me,” Lysithea lifted both of her hands and conjured up two completely separate Crests and many in the crowd muttered awed oaths. 

“That’s the Crest of Gloucester!” Lorenz called, conjuring his own Crest. 

“And the Crest of Charon,” Catherine added, summoning her Crest. 

“Wait, did you say you woke up with that hair?” Dimitri asked, a haunted expression crossing his features. “The white wasn’t your natural color?” 

Lysithea inhaled again and shook her head. “No. The stress of my body holding two Crests drained all the pigment in my hair. And...it significantly shortened my lifespan.” 

A heavy weight akin to a starving wyvern slammed into Claude as realization exploded into his mind. 

“That explains why you were so obsessed with time and getting things done so quickly,” Mercedes gasped. “Oh, Lysithea...” 

“I don’t want your pity,” the girl said, shaking her head as Catherine rubbed her shoulder again. 

“Edelgard,” Dimitri rasped, all eyes going to him. “Her hair was brown when we were kids.” 

A second starving wyvern slammed into Claude. 

“She went through those Agarthan experiments, too?!” he spluttered. 

That explained a lot: her hatred of the Church, her insane power, but it didn’t answer everything. But was she a willing subject or no? 

“She has a minor Crest of Seiros, does she not?” Ingrid spoke up. “Then, what’s her other Crest?” 

Claude hurriedly went through the list of known Crests and racked his memory to see if there was anything or any time in Garreg Mach that could have revealed the answer to this mystery. 

“I think I know what her second Crest is,” Lysithea spoke up hesitantly as all eyes fell on her. “Think: who is the one person that Edelgard was almost obsessed with from the moment the school year started? The one who spent more time with her than almost anyone else and who even Hanneman was saying had an unusual connection to that man’s Crest?” 

“You think she has the Crest of Flames, like Teach?” Claude guessed, thinking back to Gronder. “Now that you mention it...when Teach showed up with that army on Gronder Field, his Crest and Edelgard’s were almost reacting to each other in a similar way to Dimitri and that one Elite’s. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but there was definitely some sort of connection between the two of them back then.” 

“That further explains their bond...” Catherine murmured, then shook her head. “No, that bitch has the same Crest as Lady Rhea and yet she never harbored anything but hate for her.” 

“Well, if Edelgard suffered so much, let us be the ones to put an end to her miserable existence,” Dimitri folded his arms before his chest after leaning his Relic against a nearby tree. “Fodlan’s future will be remade for the better by all of us.” 

“Wait, if Lysithea’s lifespan was greatly shortened, then it makes sense that Edelgard’s would be, too, right?” Mercedes spoke up. “Since we’ve all been pushed back into our respective borders, could we not just wait for Edelgard’s time to run out?” 

“I don’t know,” Lysithea murmured, shaking her head. “Her Crest and the Professor’s are very unique and powerful, so I have no idea if she faces the same limited lifespan I do. Since the Crest of Flames is also known as the Crest of Sothis, it might even extend her life rather than shorten it.” 

“Let’s not even consider that,” Claude muttered. “Edelgard being a demigod is not going to help lift my hopes for defeating her.” 

“She doesn’t have a Relic while we have all ten of ours,” Hilda reminded him, lifting her Freikugel. “Er, eleven.” 

That made Claude raise an eyebrow. “Marianne’s coming with us?” 

“I am,” the blue-haired woman strode towards them, her own Relic hanging from her waist. “I want to fight with you.” 

“The more the merrier,” Dimitri nodded, retrieving his Relic and holding it out before him. “Shall we begin with the ending of this Empire?” 

Ingrid and Sylvain lifted their glowing Relics up to meet their liege’s while Felix rolled his eyes and halfheartedly lifted his shield. Annette stumbled forward with the giant weight of her hammer and planted its massive head onto the ground, yelping as she did so. Mercedes lifted her gem and smiled, and Claude found himself lifting Failnaught to join in. 

“Do I have to?” Hilda muttered, and then Marianne drew her Relic and raised it along with the others. “Okay, I’ll do it...” 

“Why not?” Catherine laughed as she added Thunderbrand to the collection, red light flickering and pulsating from the weapons as power washed over the bearers. 

“And now, I, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, shall complete this circle!” Thyrsus was raised at last, though Claude had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

So much power...Claude almost pitied the poor Imperials stationed at Fort Merceus because all of this was going to be crashing through their gates soon enough. 

“Can we take these apart now?” Hilda asked as Freikugel wavered. “They feel like they’re about to explode.” 

“Yeah, we probably should,” Catherine agreed. 

The Relics were separated and the pulsing of magical power faded immediately as the distance between the Crest Stones increased. 

“Gather our forces,” Dimitri ordered, his back straight and voice almost regal as his gaze roamed out across. “We march on Merceus.” 

“Your Highness!” a Kingdom scout dashed towards them, pointing behind him as he gulped down air. “Someone’s coming! They have a Relic!” 

Claude frowned. “A Relic?” 

He followed the man’s extended finger and saw a lone figure dressed in black approaching the armies, a glowing black and red weapon extending from their fist. 

“I thought the Professor had all of the Elites with him?” Ingrid inched forward, Luin in her grasp as Dedue placed his steel-covered body in front of his liege. 

Hilda made no such move to protect Claude, a frown on her painted lips as she stared at the oncoming Elite. “Marianne, isn’t that-” 

“Maurice,” Marianne finished, swallowing as her hand went to her own Relic’s hilt. “The forgotten Eleventh Elite.” 

“He’s the one that transformed into a monster?” Claude sighed as part of his nerves relaxed, only for others to flare in warning. “He must have just come from Shambala. How did he get past Hubert’s army?” 

And how long would it take before this Elite alerted Teach to the three armies arrayed on the bridge? 

“We need to take him out, now,” Dimitri had apparently reached the same conclusion. “He could alert the Professor and bring him on our tails before Enbarr falls.” 

“Wait,” Marianne blurted, making them all pause and stare at her. “W-what if I talk to him?” 

“Talk? To an undead warrior?” Claude remembered Dimitri having some sort of bond with the Blaiddyd Elite back on Gronder. “Can you even do that?” 

Marianne nodded, determination etched on her face. “Deep breath...Goddess, please watch over me.” 

“Marianne!” Hilda started to follow the other woman as she strode forward, but Claude reached out and grabbed his erstwhile friend before she could do something stupid. 

“Don’t,” he warned her. “I’ll keep her covered with Failnaught, but I don’t want anyone else getting close to that thing.” 

His fingers tightly gripped the thick, tightly wound cord that served as the Relic’s ‘string’, his Crest smoldering through his veins as his blood reacted to the weapon. A weapon made from the corpse and heart of an ancient dragon. 

Marianne strode towards Maurice, her sword still sheathed as she lifted her hand up. 

“Um, hello?” her voice was almost too loud in the pregnant silence. “Maurice?” 

The Elite said nothing, fixing an unblinking stare on his descendant as she inched closer to him. 

“It’s good to see that you have your human body back,” Marianne stammered and tripped over her tongue with each word, met only with silence from her ancestor. 

There was a spark of magical energy between them, and both Crest-Bearers faltered. 

Claude watched, his interest growing as Elite and woman lifted their left hands and held them out, more sparks flying as their fingertips met. 

“You’ve been walking quite a lonely road,” Marianne murmured, any hint of nervousness gone from her voice. “All for the sake of your king.” 

King? Was that Teach? 

“Me? I’ve...felt alone for so long, just wanting the Goddess to free me from this curse, but I don’t feel that way anymore,” Marianne kept speaking, despite Maurice making no sound that Claude could hear. “The Professor and Hilda came to save me, and...I want to live. I want to keep the life that they fought so hard to save.” 

Maurice nodded, followed by more silence. 

“What else do I want to live for?” Marianne paused. “I...I don’t know. You have your king, but I don’t know who I have. Hilda?” 

“Come on, get him out of here,” Claude whispered, his fingers getting twitchy on Failnaught. 

“I’m glad you managed to avoid the Imperial army heading east,” Marianne continued, her words immediately making Maurice balk. “You didn’t know? We gathered our forces here because we thought they were going to attack the bridge.” 

The Elite glanced back at his audience before nodding slowly, digesting Marianne’s words. 

“Your king is lucky to have you. Good luck, Maurice,” she released the warrior and stepped back. 

Maurice bowed to her and then sprinted back the way he’d come, a black blur moving at preturnatural speed that soon vanished beyond Claude’s sight. How the hell had it taken him so long to move around if he was that fast? 

“There, we should have more time,” Marianne strode back towards the group, her gaze lingering on Hilda as the woman cheered. 

“That was incredible, Marianne!” Hilda swept up the blue-haired noble into her arms and squeezed her tightly even as poor Marianne squeaked in surprise. “You were so brave!” 

“We’ll need to move quickly if we’re to catch Fort Merceus off guard, though my scouts report that the Death Knight has taken command of it,” Claude said, looking ahead as he visualized the battles to come. 

“We will prevail,” Dimitri declared, his optimism a slight balm. 

“On our honor, we shall not stop until Enbarr falls!” Ingrid lifted her Relic in salute. 

Yeah, yeah, honor and glory and all that. 

“All units: move out! We make for Fort Merceus!” Claude yelled, the nearest officers taking up the cry until it was echoing across the army. 

Soldiers began to stir and take down tents, metal glinting in the sunlight as they gathered their equipment and made ready to march. 

They would go to war once again, and a new dawn would rise on Fodlan. 

“Flayn! Wait!” Byleth had lost track of how long he’d been running through this forest after the saint, slogging through the mud and brush until even his muscles and lungs were aching from the strain. 

He’d barely kept the girl in his sight as she continued dashing north, and the air had continually grown colder and thicker with mist. He hoped they were getting close to wherever this girl was running, since he’d started seeing ruins of ancient arches, rubble from buildings, and the overwhelming presence of something powerful waiting further in the lake. 

It felt like Macuil, yet it wasn’t, and Byleth could only assume that this was another dragon that had gone into hiding. He only hoped that it wouldn’t attack him on sight, thinking he was Nemesis. 

Flayn had stopped, but the mist had grown so thick he could barely see. Waves were sloshing softly against a shoreline, and Byleth pushed through the thicket to find himself standing before a vast lake. 

The surface was still save for the small breakers slapping against shore, and Byleth could see some sort of platform or temple rising from further on the lake. 

“What is this place?” he murmured, his voice almost too loud in this unnatural silence. 

There were no birds, no animals in the brush, or anything. 

“Flayn?” Byleth stepped closer to the fur-clad bundle that was his former student, gripping her shoulder. 

Ripples broke the still surface of the lake, followed by a sloshing noise as something large moved through the water. 

“Flayn, get away from the shore, now,” Byleth tried to pull her back but she didn’t budge. “Flayn?” 

“I can’t,” she murmured. 

He looked down to see that her feet were currently ensnared by a rippling layer of water, holding her fast to the ground. 

More ripples broke the surface, and then it erupted as a massive dark form breached from the depths. Icy cold water sprayed Byleth’s face, and the power he could feel emanating from the creature approaching them made his fine hairs stand on end. 

“Damn it!” he placed himself before Flayn and unsheathed both of his Relics, feeling them blaze to life in response to his Crest. “Flayn, stay behind me.” 

“Not that I have a choice!” he felt her hands clutch at his cape. 

The massive creature steamed closer, lifting a beaked head covered in thick black scales from the water. Bernadetta’s Crest was etched on the creature’s forehead, solidifying its identity. 

“Indech,” Byleth muttered, keeping both of his blades ready as waves of frigid water slammed against his legs. “And he’s a giant turtle.” 

The old Saint slowed his approach and lifted his titanic body out of the water, his shell covered in algae and slime as legs thicker than trees hauled the beast ashore. Water gushed from him in droves, and the distinct smell of fish slammed into Byleth’s nostrils. 

“Uncle!” Flayn’s hesitation was gone in an instant and Byleth glanced back to see her waving at the gargantuan turtle, her lips curved into a wide smile under her woolen cap and jacket. 

The ancient dragon faltered, a powerful voice emanating from within its throat as it craned its great head down to look at her. “Little Cethleann, is that you? I thought I’d sensed your presence nearby!” The great beast turned its head to Byleth. “You’re the reincarnation of Sothis, are you not?” 

Sothis, not Nemesis? Well, this was a pleasant first. 

“You are correct,” Byleth lowered his swords. “I am Byleth Eisner.” 

Indech nodded. “A pleasure, Byleth Eisner. It has been a long time since I’ve encountered others of my kind.” 

“Your kind, Indech?”Byleth frowned. “I’m a mortal.” 

The dragon’s head tilted curiously. “Ah, I see. She only awakened in you a short time ago, didn’t she? Your souls are bound irreversibly now, and her life has become yours.” 

Byleth sheathed his swords. “I’m surprised you didn’t attack me, thinking I was Nemesis like Macuil did.” 

If a giant turtle could grimace, Indech did. 

“Ah, I thought I’d sensed some of his power on you,” the ancient Saint murmured, lowering his titanic body to the sandy ground while water lapped at his tail. “I will admit that I feel the presence of my old enemy within you, but you are not filled with hatred and rage like he was.” 

“I’m just glad you didn’t immediately try to kill me,” Byleth looked back at Flayn, who was moving to his side, apparently freed from the water. 

“Macuil has always been given to his...tendencies of violence,” Indech chuckled, shaking his great head. “And if you could defeat him, I have no doubt I wouldn’t be a match for you.” 

“I fought him because he gave me no choice,” Byleth shook his head. 

The huge dragon actually laughed. “Yes, I imagine so! His...hatred for your kind is not something one as long-lived as we Nabateans can just forget. Seiros was quite similar in that regard, only her hatred was fixated on the man whose power you now command. And I fear her obsessive rage was morphed into an obsession to bring Sothis back to life.” 

“Do you know of the Agarthans?” Byleth asked, gazing at the ancient eyes of a dragon that had lived for over a millennium. 

Those eyes filled with haunted memories. “I remember those monsters, yes. Their hate. They would stop at nothing to see our legacy destroyed and the surface back in their hands, and I have felt hints of their corrupting influence all over Fodlan as of late. I wish I could help, but...a giant turtle would only terrify the villages I’d come across.” 

“You can’t turn back?” Byleth frowned, glancing at Flayn. 

“Some of us lose the ability to transform after an extended period of time of being in one form or the other,” Indech nodded slowly. “Cethleann and Cichol have lost theirs, I imagine.” 

“We have,” Flayn admitted, fidgeting with her hands. “I do not know if I ever had that ability, to begin with.” 

“Well, I always thought this form suited you,” Indech said helpfully. “My adorable little niece.” 

Flayn giggled. “Thank you, Uncle!” 

Even Byleth had to smile at that. 

“So, what brings you here, Inheritor of Sothis and Nemesis?” Indech turned his head back to Byleth, curiosity in his eyes. 

“Well, Flayn sensed you and took off running,” Byleth chuckled and placed a hand on his fur-wrapped friend’s shoulder. “I came after her.” 

“I sense the work of the Agarthans nearby, an army’s worth of puppets,” Indech said, unease in his voice. 

“They’re mine, don’t worry,” Byleth said. “They’re going to Arianrhod to take care of one of the remaining Agarthans.” 

“Remaining?” the dragon tilted his head with curiosity. 

“I went to Shambala and wiped out much of their leadership. That’s how I got this second Sword of the Creator and Nemesis’s old army. I’m trying to put a stop to this war raging across Fodlan.” 

“I see,” Indech lifted his head to the heavens. “I wonder...is this our doing? Us and our blood’s legacy?” 

“In part, but it was also the fault of the Agarthans and their cruelty. Ambition, too,” Byleth sighed. 

El...after Arianrhod falls, I will come to you. We will figure this out together. 

“It breaks my heart, seeing this horrible war and how it affects everyone,” Flayn murmured, clenching her hands together as if praying. “Fighting people that I know...” 

Byleth squeezed her shoulder. “I know, Flayn. I know.” 

“War is a terrible thing, but sometimes it is necessary to force change upon a system controlled by those who abuse their power,” Indech droned, then shook his great head. “Listen to me: I’ve become an old dragon babbling on about things that won’t necessarily change the situation.” 

“I am fighting to put an end to this war as quickly as possible,” Byleth affirmed, glancing back the way they’d come. “And Arianrhod awaits us.” 

“Well then, it appears you must be off! I appreciate the visit, little ones. It has been far too long since I have spoken to another, and it was quite enjoyable. You keep my little niece safe, Byleth Eisner,” Indech groaned as he laboriously lifted his massive body from the ground, shedding waves of wet sand and algae. “Safe travels to both of you, and do return to give this old dragon some company every now and then, hmm?” 

“Of course, Uncle!” Flayn was almost jumping as she waved at the dragon. 

Indech slogged back into the lake, making its surface erupt with ripples while the massive shell cut through the waves before it vanished into the depths. 

“I’m glad we got to see him,” Byleth smiled at the girl standing beside him as she beamed at him. 

“As am I, Professor! Oh, think of all the delicious fish I could eat here!” she practically bounced up and down from excitement, which drew a short laugh from Byleth. 

“Let’s get going, then, so we can make that happen sooner rather than later,” he prompted, at which her bouncing stalled. 

“Yes...back to the war,” she murmured. “I hope we can make this end quickly.” 

Byleth reached out and squeezed her furry, mitt-covered hand. “And we will. Shall we, Little Cethleann?” 

“Let’s!” 

The duo turned away from the dwelling of the ancient Saint and trudged back into the forest. 


	25. The General and Maiden's Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a bit longer than I expected to push out since things have been pretty crazy as of late. I hope everyone's staying safe and as healthy as possible!

Madness, this was all this was. Death would permeate this place, and only time would tell if these invaders were capable of putting an end to this. 

“General!” one of the Imperial troops ran up to him, face red with exertion and his breathing coming out in heavy gasps. “The enemy is breaking through the gates! They-” the man wilted underneath the glare of the red-eyed skull helmet. “T-they have Relics! A lot of them!” 

Relics? This sounded promising. These invaders weren’t the prey that he had sought the most: that man who carried the swords of an ancient king, the warrior who would finally sate this madness that filled his every vein, but perhaps the Relics would tip the balance. 

“Go. Tell our soldiers to fight to the death,” he instructed the man, who turned even paler. “There will be no retreat.” 

The scout nodded and ran, and the beast known as the Death Knight hefted his heavy, Agarthan-made scythe into both hands as his mount pawed at the cobblestones beneath its hooves. 

“Man, I was hoping we’d see the Professor again before we were invaded,” Caspar von Bergliez and Linhardt von Hevring were watching the distant gates from their posts as soldiers filled the air with the din of clanking metal, shouting, and the roaring of the Demonic Beasts. “It looks like this is it, huh, Lin?” 

“Ugh, I don’t understand why we have to keep fighting,” Linhardt muttered, the distant thud of something powerful against the main gates echoing through the fortress. “I’d much rather take a nap under the shade of a tree, somewhere.” 

“We can do this!” Caspar winced as another impact resounded, making the scores of Imperial soldiers deployed before the gates tense and shout in alarm. “What the hell are they hitting the gate with?” 

“Dimitri would be my guess, or magic,” Linhardt fiddled with the heavy tome hanging from his waist. 

“Yeah, doesn’t Dimitri have superhuman strength or something? I’d like to go up against him, myself!” Caspar grinned, forcing enthusiasm through the heavy feeling of impending doom that filled the air. 

Metal, sweat, and fear filled the air with a wretched stench, ashen-faced soldiers shuffling about and oiling equipment, readying for their last battle. 

Caspar gripped his axe tightly, inhaling slowly to calm his nerves like the Professor taught them as adrenaline surged through his veins. 

“Let’s show these dastards that they picked the wrong fort to attack!” 

The gates splintered and shattered with a sickening crack and implosion that sent shards of metal and wood in every direction, allowing an ominous red glow to bleed through the openings. 

“Here they come!” 

“Brace yourselves!” 

The next impact was an explosion of wood and metal, and a towering figure with a blazing weapon strode through the shattered remains of the gate, followed by the fluttering blue banners of the army at his back. 

“Kill them all!” 

Red and blue soldiers charged forward to war yet again. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Damn it all!” Cornelia seethed as the beautiful silver-grey walls of her fortress were scaled by swarms of ashen soldiers. 

Soldiers that her people had created to get revenge on these filthy creatures! To return the surface to those who rightly owned it! 

“Damn you, Fell Star!” 

The gates on all three sides exploded under a hail of flames and lightning, and a tsunami of grey and sanguine red poured through the wreckage, weapons gleaming murderously in the midmorning light. 

Red Imperials and conscripted Dukedom soldiers in faded blue met the onrushing grey waves, screaming and with weapons raised. The living slammed into the dead in a violent crash that shook the air, filling the Silver Maiden with blood as steel met steel. 

“Activate the Titanus!” Cornelia ordered, anxiety bubbling up as she watched her lines bending before the mass of grey troops. 

Archers on the ramparts released volley after volley of arrows into the undead, their high position protected by moats and appellate walls. They would destroy many of the turned ancients, but none of her soldiers would be able to match the Elites in battle. 

As if the mere thought had summoned them, fallen stars erupted to life all over the melee filling Arianrhod, blazing weapons that hacked apart everyone in reach who answered to Cornelia. 

“They’re climbing up the walls!” someone screamed, turning Cornelia’s eyes to the ramparts. 

Wyverns and pegasi were swooping down on the archers with blinding speed, a red hammer and red shield glowing brightly at the heads of the aerial battalions as steel, fangs, and claws shredded armor and flesh with ease. More ashen bodies clambered over the ramparts and leaped into the fray, slaughtering the flanks before pushing deeper into the fortifications. 

What was taking the Titanus so long?! 

Arrows, spells, and spears were flung over both lines, bodies being thrown about by explosions even as they were hacked apart by steel. Blood and ash ran on the streets, the Imperial lines being decimated on all sides. 

From what Cornelia could see, Blaiddyd and Goneril were in the thick of it, hacking apart soldiers left and right while Gloucester and Lamine rained down death and blew apart everything in sight. Daphnel, Gautier, and Charon were on the flanks, wading through the Imperial and Dukedom lines while carving black and red swathes through every soldier in reach, grey bodies filling the gaps and widening them with inhuman brutality. Riegan was peppering the rear lines with black arrows while Fraldarius and Dominic continued massacring the flanks, their power unmatched by even the strongest of the soldiers fielded by Cornelia. 

But where was the Fell Star? She couldn’t see him anywhere. 

Loud stomping drew Cornelia’s gaze to where the giant Titanus were marching forward at last, their enormous weapons radiating heat. They might slow these traitors down, but not for long. Not against the Elites. 

As if to cement that point, a bolt of lightning called down from the body of Lamine lanced into one of the giants, detonating its core and making the titan crash into one of the barracks, caving the walls in with an avalanche of stone and wood. 

“No, no, no! Not after everything I’ve done to ensure our victory!” Cornelia swore as the battle lines fractured, red and blue being overrun by swarms of ashen grey on all sides. 

The screams were growing louder by the second. 

“Lady Cornelia, we must surrender!” one of her remaining generals begged, terror gripping his voice. “We cannot win this!” 

“There is no surrender, general,” she chided the man, looking over the few Agarthans who had made Arianrhod their sanctuary after the deaths of Thales and the others. 

They had survived for so long, endured so much...and yet this was how they were finally going to die: at the hands of their own creations. 

“But we-” a strange hissing sound filled the air, and a serpent of red light lanced the unfortunate general, throwing his body to the floor with a crash of metal on stone. 

“Fell Star, how wonderful to see you,” Cornelia had wondered where he was, and now he was standing just off to the side, his twin Relics blazing with a furious intensity that almost matched the golden flames smoldering within his green eyes. “A shame this had to end this way, isn’t it?” 

He must have snuck through the western flank while she was distracted. 

“Are you responsible for Duscur, Agarthan?” the Fell Star asked, his gaze unwavering. 

Cornelia shrugged and discreetly called upon her magic as she interlaced her own fingers together. “So what if I am? It served its purpose, despite the worthless prince surviving.” 

A glowing black arrow sprouted from the necks of one of the mages at her side, dropping him instantly. Cornelia looked over at the battle to see that the Ten Elites had handily wiped out what remained of her army, filling the streets with a carpet of mangled corpses and shattered weapons. 

Even her precious Titanus hadn’t lasted long: each giant had been blasted apart with ease and were now lying in pieces all over the fortress. Perhaps she and the others had made those Elites too strong. 

“I will take you to Dimitri and he will decide how to deal with you for Duscur and for your tyranny,” the Fell Star declared, crouching with both weapons ready to strike. 

“Kill it!” Cornelia barked, unleashing the full might of her prepared spell. 

A storm of darkness erupted from beneath his feet, spiraling upwards in a torrent of fell magic meant to pierce the heavens, themselves. Her mages opened fire without hesitation, pouring bolts of dark magic into the cyclone and conjuring fell energies in the form of screaming orbs and exploding spikes. 

The ashen army faltered, and Cornelia dared to allow a spark of hope within her chest. 

Then the darkness was ripped apart by blinding golden flames, heat unlike anything she’d ever felt baking her flesh with the might of a newborn sun and yanking the air from her lungs as a pained cry was stifled from within her throat. 

Cornelia stumbled back, her flesh cracking and feeling as if it were melting off her bones while white-hot agony seared itself into her eyes, turning the world into a smoldering gold blur. 

She could hear the screams of the soldiers around her, heard and felt their bodies hitting the ground and writhing as they wailed their agony for all to bear witness to. They were all burning alive, being devoured by the golden flames. 

“A good try,” the gods-damned Fell Star was standing over her: a dark figure against the blistering light of her ravaged eyes. “You almost had me, there.” 

“You ruined everything!” Cornelia forced the agonizing words out from her cracked and dry throat, her voice little more than a raspy croak. 

“No, you did. You and the rest of your kind,” the Fell Star’s monotone voice was seething with anger. “You will pay for what you have done.” 

“You sound just like Nemesis, that old bastard king of ruins,” Cornelia spat, almost choking on her ravaged tongue as white-hot agony spliced every nerve in her body. “We should have killed him when we took our Relics back. Him and Seiros, both.” 

Hopefully, her companions in Enbarr were tormenting that arrogant bitch of a dragon, breaking her mind and spirit until naught remained by a slavering, maddened beast. It was what she deserved, after all. 

It was what all who blindly followed the Fell Star deserved. 

These filthy beasts would all meet their end, one way or another, but justice was best delivered by immaculate wings. 

Cornelia’s body was losing feeling and strength, and she was dimly aware of the ravaged world spiraling upwards as a faint impact slammed into her back. 

“There it is...our light...” she finally saw it: that stunning otherworldly light of the world that belonged only to the Agarthans. 

Thales was right: it was beautiful beyond belief. 

Cornelia reached out to it, feeling herself fall, fall, fall. 

And then she was gone. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------- 

All he could hear were screams and the clash of metal, broken by the crashing of massive bodies against the ground as the Demonic Beasts fell. Caspar was swinging his axe at everyone who dared approach him, trying to ignore the bitter taste in his mouth as he shed a river of blood in his wake. 

He hadn’t expected it to be so hard to fight familiar faces and watch them die, even if he wasn’t the one doing the killing. Caspar could have sworn that he saw Leonie getting dragged off the battlefield a while ago, but he’d only caught a glimpse. He hadn’t been too close to Cyril, either, but it had still been hard to watch the kid take a spear through the throat. 

His troops had been whittled down until only a few remained standing around him, covered in blood and sweat and their heavy breaths almost deafening. 

“They just...keep coming,” one man groaned, his eyes already locking onto the newest group of soldiers in Alliance yellow storming towards them. 

Caspar’s heart sank: the familiar, although much bulkier and older, face of Raphael Kirsten was at the lead of the soldiers streaming towards him, their eyes meeting. 

Both of the old friends hesitated, but their gazes hardened with bitter recognition: this was a battlefield, and any hesitation would only get themselves and their friends killed. Caspar hefted his axe into weary, aching hands while muscles strained from rigorous, brutal combat protested from the movement, all the while smoldering with hot pins and needles. 

A flurry of shadows crossing the fortress made Caspar glance up to see Claude and his aerial battalion cruising over burning ballistae and brawling soldiers, glowing red lines scribing the air each time the Tactician’s Relic thrummed. 

“For the Empire!” Caspar bellowed from aching, throbbing lungs as he forced his leaden legs forward. 

The faces of the Alliance soldiers drew closer and closer until he could see their eyes, blazing with rage and determination. Caspar lunged at the closest soldier, ducking beneath a flash of steel before slamming his axe into the man’s body with a sickening squelch. He pivoted to avoid another blade and slammed his armored heel into the side of his assailant’s head, feeling metal and bone give in. 

His battle-hardened senses screamed a warning and he spun just in time for Raphael’s bulk to fill up his vision, pure power ripping his axe from his hands. Caspar stumbled backwards, biting down a curse as pain pounded through his hands. 

“Sorry, Caspar, but I gotta do this!” Raphael’s face was hard as he hefted clawed silver gauntlets spattered with red, and Caspar glanced around to see the last of his soldiers cut down by Raphael’s. 

Damn it! 

Raphael lunged, his fists almost too fast for Caspar to follow, but he ducked beneath the powerful strike and snapped his leg out. His boot sank into Raphael’s knee, bone snapping beneath the blow and drawing a low, agonized groan from the huge man as he sank to the ground. 

Just like Linhardt had taught him! 

Raphael swung out desperately with his right gauntlet and Caspar leaped back to avoid being ripped open by those razor-sharp claws. 

“Captain Raph!” the Alliance soldiers poured forward, blades drawn and murder blazing in their eyes. 

Caspar swept out the legs of one of them and sidestepped to evade a wild swing before slamming his fist into the owner’s gut with enough power to shear through yellow armor plating. He bit down a curse as hot agony spliced his fingers from the blow, and stars rattled his vision as a heavy impact slammed into the side of his head. 

“Die, you goddess-damned Imperial!” the Alliance soldier standing over Caspar reared back for the killing blow, plunging his weapon downwards. 

Caspar lashed out with his foot, catching the weapon and knocking it aside, then pushed himself to stand while his attacker tried to recollect himself. Caspar sprinted and slammed his shoulder into the man’s gut, forcing the air from his lungs, then reached up and ripped his helmet off. 

“Hey, what do you think you-” Caspar grabbed the soldier’s now-uncovered head and twisted as hard as he could, bone snapping. 

The soldier crumpled and Caspar spun to face the rest of his assailants, gulping down air into his screaming lungs. 

“Come on, just like the Professor taught me...” he gasped, eyeing the remaining Alliance soldiers as they crowded around the kneeling Raphael. 

Could they even do this? He had yet to personally come across anyone with a Relic, but he could see how they were decimating the Imperial garrison, shredding lines of soldiers like they were nothing. Even Annette with her massive hammer had been bashing her way through heavily armored bodies left and right, flinging spells at those outside of smashing range. 

The Alliance troops looked up and yelled in alarm right as a wall of wind shredded them, sending blood and body parts flying. 

“Get out of there, Caspar!” Linhardt yelled from behind. “Sylvain and Ingrid are gunning for you!” 

Caspar looked over and saw that the duo was indeed speeding towards his position, trampling Imperial troops while blazing Relics lanced through red and black armor with terrifying ease. 

Ok, maybe he didn’t have to kill Raphael after all. 

“Sorry, Caspar!” pain exploded in Caspar’s side, making his lungs seize up as he looked down to see that Raphael had hurled his gauntlet and the claws now embedded in Caspar’s body. 

Caspar swore, adrenaline erupting through his veins and dulling the agony as he reached down and ripped the weapon out of his side. Blood flashed from the savage wounds and Caspar slipped the gauntlet onto his own fist, feeling the warmth and sweat from Raphael’s grip enclosing his fingers. 

The large man was hobbling forward as best as his shattered knee allowed, face tight with agony and determination as he held his remaining gauntlet up in a defensive stance. There was no choice, now. Not anymore. 

Caspar lunged, gasping with the red-hot suffering lancing his side with every move he made. Raphael’s clumsy and unbalanced swing was easy enough to duck under, but it didn’t make what was to come any easier. 

Caspar jammed the vicious claws into the exposed vitals, his arm jarring at the impact as an agonized huff escaped Raphael’s great chest. 

“N-no...Sis...” Caspar fought down the lump threatening to choke him as he yanked the claws out of his former friend, who slumped to the ground as blood gushed from his wound. 

“Sorry, Raph,” was all he could force out as the large man went still, the light leaving his eyes. 

“Raphael! Caspar, you bastard!” he looked up to see Sylvain stampeding towards him, murder in his eyes as he raised the burning Lance of Ruin. 

A lance that the Black Eagles had retrieved from Sylvain’s own brother, years ago. Was this what the Professor called irony? 

Caspar yanked Raphael’s other gauntlet from his limp hand and held both weapons up in a defensive X before his body, trying to gauge the distance. He had the feeling trying to dismount Sylvain by grabbing the Relic would be a bad idea, especially after what had happened to his brother. 

He really did not want to become a giant monster thing because he didn’t have the Crest needed to use the weapon. 

Sylvain’s black-armored horse was shaking the ground as it thundered closer, sending tremors of pain up Caspar’s legs that made it even harder to focus. Where the hell did Ingrid go? 

He dove as fast as he could, stone slamming into his body as Sylvain’s horse thundered past, the whipping of hot air just inches above his head testament to how close he’d come to having it cleaved from his shoulders. 

He rolled and came up standing as Sylvain cantered away, reining in his horse and trying to get the beast to turn for another charge. Caspar charged, tightening his grip on his stolen gauntlets as he sought an opening in Sylvain’s armor to get to his vitals. How many of his friends and old classmates would he have to kill before this war ended? 

Sylvain twisted in the saddle and thrust out at Caspar with his blazing Lance, but the clumsy attack was easily avoided. Caspar slashed the gauntlets across Sylvain’s arm, making him swear as blood immediately began falling from the wound, spattering on armor and the ground. 

“Damn it!” the knight swiped out with his lance, pain splitting Caspar’s skull as the heavy haft slammed into the side of his head. 

Caspar stumbled away, trying to regain his balance to face Sylvain again when his instincts screamed for him to lift his gauntlets into another defensive X. Raging, screaming pain ripped into his arms as a glowing object smashed through both gauntlets, sliced right through Caspar’s guard and pierced his chest. 

Heated agony immediately blossomed in waves across his body, making all of his muscles melt into mush. 

“I’m dead,” Caspar’s sluggish mind realized. “He killed me.” 

He could faintly hear someone screaming his name as Sylvain pulled the lance from his chest, his eyes filled with bitter contempt as Caspar fell to knees unable to support him any longer. 

“Professor, I’m sorry. Lin...” 

The world tipped backwards until he was looking up at the sky, the sun shining down with warmth even as it began to dim. 

Everything was growing dark and soft, so gentle...Caspar reached up to the sky, trying to close his fingers around the warmth. 

He fell into the darkness. 

“Caspar!” Linhardt’s muscles failed him and he fell to his knees, his chest threatening to cave in as his lungs seized. “No...” 

All he could see was the now-still form of the person he’d been closer to than anyone, the one he felt he was falling in love with, watching his extended arm fall lifelessly upon the stones. 

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, Linhardt,” Ingrid’s voice came from behind, and a brief red-tinged impact drove Linhardt into the darkness as well. 

“Goddess, I knew this was going to be bad, but I wasn’t expecting it to be this hard,” Sylvain muttered as he spurred his mount over to her. “Dimitri should be cleaning up the rest of the Death Knight’s forces soon enough.” 

Ingrid nodded, bitterness filling her mouth as she looked over the broken corpses of her three classmates. Raphael and Caspar had been two goofballs back at the academy, but they’d always trained and eaten together after training or battles. And Linhardt...he was lazy but smart and surprisingly helpful when he wanted to be, but he had clearly been fond of Caspar. These bitter thoughts almost made her vomit. 

“Come on,” she said to her oldest friend, spurring her pegasus into the air to get a better view of the battlefield. 

Bodies from both sides lay broken and bloody all over the powerful fortifications, smoke rising from destroyed siege equipment and partially obscuring her vision. It was hell, plain and simple, and the sight of so much death and destruction seared itself into Ingrid’s very soul. 

She doubted she would ever forget such devastation. 

She looked south, towards where the Death Knight had placed himself and his guard, and saw the black-armored terror lying on the ground, Areadbhar in his chest and his long hair splaying out from a head no longer covered by his skull-like helmet. Mercedes was kneeling next to him, clasping his hand in hers. 

The rest of the battle was winding down, with the last Imperial holdouts being cut down by Catherine and the white-armored Knights of Seiros, and Ingrid allowed a heavy sigh to escape her. 

This was it: they’d won. 

Fort Merceus had fallen into the hands of the Kingdom, Alliance, and Church. 

The Empire’s end was finally in sight. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Edelgard’s knees threatened to give in as she listened to the horrific report her exhausted scout had just delivered. 

Fort Merceus and Arianrhod had fallen, with neither battle leaving any survivors from the Imperial defenders. A massive joint army from the Kingdom, Alliance, and the Knights of Seiros were now bearing down upon Enbarr with nothing to stop them, and Hubert’s massively outnumbered force was now trapped in the northeast. Petra and Bernadetta were in Brigid, and any reinforcements they could bring wouldn’t make much of a difference. 

“Linhardt...Caspar...” her heart ached even more within her chest, making it impossible to draw any sort of satisfaction from the losses that had been sustained by her enemies. 

Cornelia and the Agarthans not within Enbarr had been destroyed, and the allied armies had taken a large hit in fighting the Death Knight and the Merceus garrison. The Kingdom had taken the worst of the casualties, being the first into the fight and the wielder of the most Relics but nobody from the Blue Lions had fallen, although Ashe had apparently lost his left arm to the Death Knight while trying to protect Mercedes. 

That was one notable commander out of the fight, at least for the Kingdom, but the Alliance and Church had taken nasty hits as well. Raphael was among the slain, having been killed by Caspar. Leonie had taken an arrow to the chest but it seemed she would survive, with treatment, to fight in the future. Cyril, on the other hand, had been found among the dead with a spear in his throat. Many other Knights of Seiros had fallen in the vicious fighting, further whittling away at their already dwindling numbers. 

Their losses had been catastrophic, but the Empire’s had been far worse. 

Edelgard felt a tiny smidgen of pity for the Almyran boy: he’d been a thrall of Rhea’s and had really been unable to think for himself without the Church using him like it used Catherine. And now he was dead, never again to see the person he so worshipped. 

“What is the Liberation Army doing?” she tried to keep the desperation out of her voice. 

Only they could match the power of this combined army driving through Imperial lands at the moment. 

“They’re still mustered around Arianrhod,” the scout’s words made her bite her tongue in frustration. “But we have seen signs of them mobilizing. I think your Professor has been sending scouts all across Fodlan, trying to figure out what’s going on.” 

He’d catch on to this invasion quickly, then, and would likely be moving towards Enbarr at full speed the moment he received the news. Enbarr would have to hold long enough for the reinforcements to arrive, but Edelgard knew they wouldn’t last long, not against eleven Relics and a massive army combined with the inhuman strength of Dimitri. 

“Send a runner to Arianrhod: tell Byleth that he is free to travel through Imperial territory with his army and let our forces know not to harry them,” Edelgard ordered. 

The scout bowed and hurried away, the door closing behind him as Edelgard finally sank into her chair as her strength failed her for once. 

“Byleth, my love...How is this going to end? Is this how I die?” she wondered, the weight of the world settling upon her shoulders. 

She tried to picture his face, to draw strength from the smile he reserved especially for her, but found nothing. Her new dawn was crumbling around her as her commanders fell and her armies were destroyed. 

If there was going to a be a future for Fodlan, it was going to be built upon her grave. 

Edelgard von Hresvelg pushed herself to stand, inhaling deeply to calm her nerves. 

“I’m sorry, Byleth, but it appears we won’t be able to walk alongside one another after all,” she murmured as the smoldering core of her heart threatened to shatter within her chest. “Whatever happens after this battle, I can only hope that you can find it in yourself to move on.” 

She turned to Camus as the captain stood at attention at the door. “Captain, tell our forces to fortify the city and evacuate everyone who can’t fight. If we hold out long enough, the Liberation Army may yet come to our aid.” 

“The enemy will be coming for you, Your Majesty,” the captain rumbled. 

“I am not fleeing,” Edelgard seethed, making the man flinch. “There is nowhere to run and I will not abandon Enbarr. We make our stand here.” 

For better or for worse, this would be where the war finally ended. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It physically hurt me to write Caspar and Linhardt dying. I always loved their paired ending so I wanted to incorporate it here. Forgive me friends for I have sinned.


	26. Finality

Byleth’s heart, or the thing that was inside his chest, was starting to break inside of him. Although this...feeling threatening to tear him apart was one he wasn’t sure how to label: fear for Edelgard’s safety; anger for Claude and Dimitri betraying his trust; or the world-crushing sorrow from hearing of the deaths of Linhardt, Caspar, and Raphael. 

Edelgard’s messenger had reached Arianrhod yesterday, and the Liberation Army was steaming through Imperial territory as fast as the undead could move. The Elites were taking point with the army’s land-based and aerial cavalry, leaving the heavy infantry to slog behind as quickly as they could follow. 

He would need every Elite at his disposal, and the loss of just one of them could doom his efforts, so he would have to think through this coming conflict carefully. Every part of him wanted to find a way to avoid killing his former students, but a tiny presence reminded him that their deaths might be necessary to curb further bloodshed. 

Byleth was currently riding with Dominic, the wind slapping him across the face and whipping his cape behind him as he grimly held onto the wyvern’s spines. 

“Professor, are you sure we can make it?” Flayn was riding with Fraldarius, having shed her cocoon even as she clung to the ashen Elite’s waist. “If my father is leading this attack...” 

“Enbarr is strong, as is Edelgard, but against an army of that size, with Dimitri and all of the other Relics, the gates won’t hold for long,” Byleth swallowed the nerves clogging his throat and raised his voice so Flayn could hear him. “Damn it all...I was going to call all three of them to a conference in Garreg Mach so we could talk about the Empire’s reparations and Edelgard’s punishment for starting this war! Dimitri and Claude would obviously want her head, but perhaps I would have been able to talk them into exiling her while they split Imperial lands between the Kingdom and Alliance!” 

“I do not think the Church would have accepted that, Professor,” Flayn called over the wind and the beating of scores of wings, her green hair flying around her head like an emerald halo. 

Dominic and Fraldarius were in the air with the rest of the Liberation Army’s wyvern corps, casting scores of draconic shadows upon the Imperial countryside they raced through. Daphnel, Riegan, Gautier, and Blaiddyd were riding at the head of the advance force with the rest of the cavalry, carrying Gloucester, Goneril, Lamine, and Charon with them. 

Byleth blinked through the tears the wind was wringing from his eyes, gazing southwards at where he knew Enbarr would be. 

“Hold on, El. Please, hold on!” 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Lord Hubert, we’ve yet to find a way to break through the enemy lines,” yet another scout came forward with failure, his face tight with apprehension. “Their army is massive: we’re completely cut off from Enbarr.” 

Hubert bit down the hot rage simmering through his veins, clenching his fists and resisting the urge to blast someone. “We must find a way back to the capitol, or at least a way to slow our enemies down.” 

His army had been meant to destroy Shambala, but that objective had quickly been forgotten the moment the Alliance, Kingdom, and Church had invaded from Myrddin. They’d been skirmishing with the flanks and rear of the army for days, trying to delay the inevitable even after Fort Merceus had fallen. And now they were stuck in the northeastern plains, near the forests and valleys hiding Shambala. 

Hubert knew it was futile: the capitol was too far away for his teleportation magicks and the allied armies were far too large for his own force to contend with, but he couldn’t just leave his Emperor to deal with them alone. He needed to return somehow, or to present a large enough threat to make his enemies split their forces between him and Enbarr. 

“Keep harassing their flanks,” he ordered the scout, who hesitated. “What is it?” 

“We’re no longer on their flanks, my lord. They’ve moved past us, gaining ground on the hills around Enbarr,” the man reported, fear shining in his eyes. “A small force is guarding their rear, but the rest are marching on.” 

Hubert pushed through the irritation and rage, trying to calm his raging thoughts. “If we can destroy this rearguard, we can advance closer to the capitol and try to catch them between our forces. Did you see who was leading them?” 

It wouldn’t be anyone with a Relic: they would need the power of those weapons to take on the capitol’s defenses. 

“A young man in green clothes, wearing glasses. He had short brown hair,” the scout reported, and Hubert felt his lips curl into a smile that made the poor man step back. “T-there was a grey-haired man with him who was missing an arm.” 

“Ignatz and Ashe. Good, we can work with this,” Hubert looked out at the plains stretching out before him, waiting to see if he could see the Alliance’s yellow and black banners and maybe the Kingdom’s blue. “Get our soldiers in line: we must make ready for this army immediately.” 

“Yes, Lord Hubert!” the scout fled with impressive speed, vanishing into the thick brush concealing the army. 

The soldiers were tired and marching on cold rations, with Hubert not allowing for cookfires out of concern that the smoke would give them away. It wasn’t necessary anymore, since the allied armies were leaving his force behind to focus on Enbarr. There was no danger of the massive army encircling his position, so there was no further need for concealment. 

All they needed to do was wait and let the Alliance come towards their position. Heavily armored knights made up the front lines, flanked by lighter brigades and backed by mages and archers. There was no cavalry: the beasts would have been hindrances underground, and it would have been a nightmare trying to get them through this brush. 

They would have to hit hard and hit fast, wiping out the enemy’s command structure and crippling their offense before they could rally. 

He didn’t have to wait long: within not even an hour, he could see movement in the distance, soldiers marching on his position while blue and gold banners fluttered in the wind. 

“They come,” Hubert murmured, easing his stiff muscles into movement despite their protests as he looked back at his troops. “Get into formation, now! The enemy approaches.” 

Metal rattled and voices shouted as the soldiers hustled to take their places, weapons and armor gleaming in the light filtering through the canopy. The plumes on the helmets of those bearing the Hero or War Master ranks were swaying all over the forest, rivaled by the pointed hats and hoods from the mages and the feathers adorning the heads of Snipers. 

These soldiers were among the best the Empire had to offer, selected to go up against what Hubert had expected to be a sturdy defense left behind by the Professor. But even the best soldiers could die in the chaos of the battlefield, especially if they were outnumbered. 

Hubert watched the distant forms of the advancing enemies grow larger and larger, the small blob rapidly expanding and splitting into two distinct colors: yellow and blue. He would have to wait to ensure that the forest would thwart any organized flanking assaults before moving his troops out, especially since the thick brush would prove detrimental for spells and arrows. He would rather not set his cover on fire trying to shoot from the forest. 

“A little closer, and then we charge,” he said to the closest officer, who nodded. “On my order.” 

“Get ready!” a voice bayed. 

“Shields locked! Flankers, at the ready!” 

A wall of heavy shields was readied, the commanding Fortress Knights forming the head of the formation with their massive castle-shaped shields. They weren’t as powerful as Edelgard’s Royal Guard or her elite Supreme Division, but they were a hell of a force to be reckoned with. His own troop, elite sorcery engineers from House Vestra in black robes and masks, assembled around him, dark sparks crackling around their fingertips. 

The enemy was getting closer and closer, the earth shaking from their collective advance as the rattling of their armor and rumbling of their approach beginning to fill the air. 

Hubert could almost make out individual faces among their front line. Two figures on the side of the approaching force drew Hubert’s attention: one wearing green, the other blue. Ignatz and Ashe. 

He watched them get closer...closer....Now! 

Hubert moved out of the cover of the trees and chanted under his breath, dark energies forming around his outstretched fingers. His troop emerged from the trees at his side, conjuring power of their own into their hands, and they released a wave of dark magic all at once, the spell rocketing away from Hubert’s hands. 

The bolts sprayed across the enemy’s front lines, bursting in novas of dark black and purple and dropping almost a dozen soldiers. The forest erupted as Imperial soldiers poured from within, branches snapping in a deafening crescendo and mingling with wordless roars and crashing metal. 

Hubert readied another spell, his fingers tingling from the energy surging through his flesh, then sent the dark power streaking towards a group of heavily armored Kingdom knights. The Kingdom’s core of knights would be the greatest threat, here, but Hubert couldn’t afford to underestimate the Alliance. 

The front lines collided in a violent, explosive crash that made Hubert’s teeth rattle even from here as soldiers continued streaming past him, neat military formations melting together into the brutal chaos of battle as steel glittered and flashed. The healing corps lingered behind the melee, pouring golden light into their comrades as men and women heaved against one another in savage combat. 

The Imperial armored corps were keeping their shields locked just to stay alive as the front lines were hammered, lances and swords darting between what gaps opened up and plunging into flesh or skittering off of metal with flying sparks. The lighter brigades were curving around the front line, attempting to flank the enemy, and Hubert scowled as a wave of Kingdom knights emerged and slammed into the Imperial flankers. 

The Imperial archers cleared the trees and immediately began lobbing shafts over the heads of their allies, their powerful bows thrumming in a murderous melody that sang of death and ruin as arrows punctured the air in volleys. 

“Ready lightning!” he ordered his sorcery engineers. “Aim right for the center of the Kingdom lines!” 

The troop spread out and clasped their hands, channeling their power into electrical streams that would be shot over the melee at the bulk of the enemy’s position. With proper aim, they could decimate the heavy troops that Hubert was certain were being held in reserve. 

He glimpsed a Kingdom banner raising and then being waved from side to side: a signal for the reserves. An Alliance banner rose from the right flank in response, bobbing back and forth. 

Over the screams and crashing of metal, Hubert heard a pulsing emanating from the enemy that immediately drew his attention. 

“Fire! Now!” 

Lightning streamed into the sky, white-hot crackling lines of blinding light streaming over the violence towards the Kingdom lines. Light flared over the back ranks, forming a giant shield that immediately absorbed the lightning strike and negated Hubert’s efforts. 

“The left flank is being pushed back!” an officer rushed up to Hubert, an arrow sticking out of his shield. “The Alliance is moving up archers of their own on the right!” 

Ignatz had been ready for this, it would seem. How annoying. 

Hubert could see the red lines being shoved back in front of him, but he’d committed all of the heavy troops he had in the front. The mages were trying to shoot over the heads of their allies, but their magic couldn’t curve like arrows and so very few of the bolts hit their targets. 

“Pull the right flank back,” he told the officer, who balked. “Open the door for our mages to fire at the enemy.” 

Understanding dawned on the man. “Yes, Lord Hubert!” 

The officer dashed off, shouting orders as he went. 

If everything went to plan, the right flank would keep itself anchored on the front lines while swinging inwards like a door, letting the Kingdom’s forces around the flank while simultaneously shielding the vulnerable healers and archers. If the Kingdom poured around to encircle the Imperial lines, they would find themselves right in the line of fire for the mages. 

The spellcasters gathered around Hubert’s position, robes flowing as they gathered power into their hands, chanting softly under their breath to channel the magic into the proper conduits. 

The Imperial lines swung inwards, soldiers backpedaling as well as their tight formation allowed even as Kingdom blades and spears continued gouging through their bodies. The blue knights followed, perhaps sensing weakness and seeking to capitalize on it. 

Fools, the lot of them. 

Only when a blob of knights emerged around the flank, a few shouting to stop while pointing at the mages, did Hubert fire another orb of darkness at them. Arcane sigils flared to life en masse as streams of magical energy scribed the air between the two forces, the bolts shattering armor and punching through shields with explosive force. 

Lines of knights crumpled beneath the brutal onslaught of magic, Hubert feeling no small sense of satisfaction from watching his screaming enemies be decimated. 

The surviving knights were scrambling back, desperately attempting to escape the onslaught of magic ripping through their lines as more and more of them were blasted into oblivion. 

The Kingdom’s right flank collapsed, the Imperial’s left swinging back out with bloodthirsty screams as the soldiers poured into the decimated army. 

“Good, good,” the battle was progressing well. 

So long as the center held, the flanks could swing outwards and encircle the main body of the Kingdom and Alliance. All they needed to do was deal with the right, now. 

An arrow sprouted from one of the sorcery engineers, dropping the man where he stood. 

“Archers on our right! They’re aiming at the healers!” 

Damn it. 

Hubert bit down a curse as a volley of arrows sprayed the healers and dropped almost half their number, making the remainder scramble for what cover they could. 

“Mages, move around the flank!” Hubert shouted. “Archers, silence theirs!” 

He ran towards the melee, the mages at his side as arrows continued raining down from the enemy. The bodies lumped on the ground made it difficult to find footing, but Hubert had plenty of practice trampling over the dead and quickly progressed to where he had a clear shot at the enemy. 

A small group was trying to spread out the Imperial line to a point where it was thin enough to easily punch through, and Hubert immediately took aim with a more powerful spell, calling dark energy into his hands. 

A blob of darkness materialized over the group, two red orbs gleaming to life and gazing down at the devastation before the entire construct exploded. Bodies and body parts went flying in a gory spray from the explosion, clearing out the entire flank and allowing the Imperial line to swing back towards the enemy. 

Soldiers slammed into soldiers, steel and blood flashed, and the screams of man and woman alike continued filling the air as bodies continued crumpling onto the flattened and bloodstained grass. 

Hubert wished he had a better view of the chaos, but he was confident that they would emerge victorious so long as he could get rid of Ashe and Ignatz. All he had to do was find them. 

He strode towards the violence, skirting the worst of it while the rest of his mages followed in his wake. They rounded the battle and were immediately facing several squadrons of knights that were attempting to do the exact same thing, Ignatz and Ashe at their head. 

Perfect. 

“Destroy them all!” Hubert ordered, shooting a bolt of darkness at Ignatz. 

The boy dove to avoid the attack, allowing the bolt to slam into a knight behind him and dropping the man. 

The popping of spells shook the air again as a multitude of bolts streaked towards the massed knights, mowing them down even as they scrambled to avoid the fire now shattering their heavy armor. 

Arrows and javelins sang out in response, wood and steel slamming into flesh and adding even more corpses onto the earth as voices were raised in agonized screams. Hubert ducked as death shot over his head in a sharp hiss, the shaft burying itself into another of the dwindling Vestra sorcery engineers. 

He was going to have to train even more of them after this battle, if the Empire survived the war. 

“Keep firing! Focus on their commanders!” Hubert ordered his surviving mages, glimpsing a wave of flaming arrows streak from the Imperial lines before raining down on the Alliance’s flank. 

His troops would fight to the last if they had to, and he respected their devotion. Their loyalty to Her Majesty was commendable. 

Hubert sent another dark orb out towards his enemies, blasting a hole into a knight’s torso and blackening his flesh. He chanted and held his hands out to channel a much more powerful spell, willing a torrent of darkness to spiral up into the air and engulf a score of the soldiers flooding towards him. 

They screamed. 

Many disintegrated on the spot, utterly devoured by the dark power that was ripping the life from them while others crumpled into mangled, writhing heaps while dark energies continued eating away at their flesh. 

“Damn you!” Ashe’s enraged roar made Hubert leap backwards just in time for the one-armed fool to stumble past, awkwardly waving a sword with his remaining left limb. 

Poor bastard had been right-handed, it would seem. 

Hubert straightened and flexed his fingers, eyes darting to where other knights were surging into his mages and cutting them down, several being blasted point-blank with spells for their troubles. 

Lightning strikes called down from the heavens scorched the earth and sent electricity skittering through metal-covered bodies, the sickly-sweet stench of burned flesh and seared metal only intensifying when a mighty eruption of fire ripped through another group. 

No need to hold back or worry about hitting allies when you were surrounded by enemies. 

“Die, Imperial dog!” a female soldier charged Hubert, her eyes wild as she made to run him down with a bloodstained lance. 

Hubert snapped his hand out towards the woman and blasted her almost point-blank with a Miasma. Her body tumbled to the earth, bouncing once from her momentum before rolling to a stop a mere foot away from him. 

Ignoring her blackened chest and the armor peeling away from her ravaged flesh, Hubert stooped and retrieved her lance, recalling the lessons that his former Professor had drilled into him so long ago as he took the weapon into both hands. 

An Alliance swordsman lunged at him from the chaos, screaming himself hoarse as a flash of steel streaked towards Hubert’s chest. Hubert turned his lance’s shaft and caught the blade on the wood before jerking back with it and wrenching the sword from his opponent’s grasp. The swordsman stumbled and Hubert kicked his legs out and sent the man tumbling to the ground, then slammed the bloody steel head of his lance into the swordsman’s back. 

“Ashe, we need to fall back!” Hubert looked away from his kill to find a disheveled and bloodstained Ignatz trying to pull his companion away from the Imperial lines. “We’re being decimated!” 

“If we run, we’ll lead them right to His Highness!” Ashe protested, his rage-filled glare burning into Hubert. “If we kill Hubert here and now, we’ll weaken the Empire even more!” 

Ignatz opened his mouth to say something more, but his voice devolved into a scream as a glowing black blade emerged from his chest, his body being lifted up into the air. 

“Ignatz!” Ashe’s scream was almost musical, but Hubert had little time to drink in the fool’s despair as the towering black-armored ashen warrior heaved the corpse off of his scarlet-wreathed Relic. 

It was the Eleventh Elite, the one Her Majesty had said was called Maurice. Was the Professor already that close to them, or was this one protecting Shambala? 

“Monster!” several Kingdom soldiers ran towards the Elite, screaming bloody vengeance. 

Maurice turned, his Crest flaring, and his glowing blade slashed a brutal swathe through metal and flesh with a single swing. Bodies crumpled in a line before him, scythed through by the blazing light of his Relic. The Elite turned back to Hubert, his glowing red eyes boring into Hubert’s very soul and setting off alarms as a cruel realization bounced through his skull. 

_ It came here for me. _

Hubert lifted his hand to fire a spell at the undead, only for one of his surviving mages to send a stream of lightning at Maurice instead. The Thoron beam smashed his shoulder and made the warrior stumble, his glowing eyes immediately honing in on his attacker. 

“Fall back! Fall back!” Ashe was baying at the top of his lungs, the soldiers around him trudging away as fast as they could. 

“Don’t let them escape!” Hubert needed to cripple this force further, to kill Ashe before he could reinforce the main army. 

Maurice ducked as an arrow whizzed over his head, red eyes switching targets. If he started rampaging through both forces, perhaps it would slow him down long enough for Hubert to get away. 

Two knights charged Maurice, swinging massive axes overhead at the warrior. Maurice’s Relic flared out to meet them, slicing through the hafts of their weapons and making the heavy heads thunk to the ground before a follow-up strike tore through their armored bodies. 

An Alliance Sniper fired at his back, but the Elite merely crouched and let the shaft fly over his shoulder before grabbing one of the fallen axe heads and hurling it full force at his attacker. The Sniper screamed as the axe head spiraled into his torso and embedded itself into his leather jerkin, and his body joined all the others. 

Hubert would have been impressed by the thing’s killing ability if said ability wasn’t going after him next. 

Maurice started walking towards Hubert, glowing saber held out to the side as those glowing eyes burned into him. Another Kingdom knight attempted to intercept the Elite, only for the Relic to shear through her armor and send her skidding to the ground. An Imperial Hero lunged at Maurice next, trying to get his attention off of Hubert, and jabbed several times at the Elite with his blade. 

Maurice flicked aside each strike with ease, his Relic a blazing line that the Imperial could not pierce, then he slashed across the warrior’s throat before continuing his stride to Hubert while the Hero clutched at his throat and crumpled behind the Elite. 

Hubert began channeling the Warp spell to get himself out of this monster’s sight, but the incantation would take far too long and he couldn’t interrupt it to cast something else to slow it down. 

“Hubert! You’re mine!” Ashe darted at Hubert from the side, gripping a dagger that he’d taken from a fallen Sniper. 

Hubert leaped backwards to avoid the desperate strike, almost biting his tongue as he cut off the incantation he’d been muttering. Ashe’s clumsy left-handed thrust pivoted away as the boy attempted to catch his balance again. 

“A pity the Death Knight didn’t aim more at your head rather than your arm,” Hubert growled, glancing at where the battle lines were splitting apart, the survivors from both sides dashing away to regroup elsewhere away from the enemy. 

“He was a murderer and a monster, just like you,” Ashe snarled. “I will get justice for all the evil you’ve committed!” 

Justice and righteousness? Pathetic: Her Majesty’s path was the only one that would purge Fodlan of all of this nonsense and set everything right. Hubert had paved much of that path in blood and would continue to do so all for her sake, so that the suffering she’d endured would never happen again. 

Ashe lunged, slashing and stabbing wildly with his knife while shouting with each attack. Hubert sidestepped each strike with ease, watching where his feet fell to avoid tripping himself up on one of the many corpses. 

“Stand still!” the enraged boy snapped, so lost to his anger and desperation that he didn’t see Hubert pull a hidden dagger from a sheathe in his jacket. 

“Farewell, Ashe,” Hubert said before jamming his dagger into the boy’s throat. 

His eyes widened in horror and pain, his lone hand snapping upwards to clutch at the bleeding wound as Hubert pulled his weapon free. The boy tried to speak, but his ravaged throat only allowed for a soft rasp before he fell to his knees. 

Hubert saw Ashe collapse face-first on the ground, just another corpse mingling with all the others, and then he turned to face Maurice. Black, grey, and red filled his vision, and Hubert had enough time to take a startled step back before hot agony blossomed in his chest. 

He tried to lash out with his dagger, but a cold, bloodless hand clamped down on his wrist and made him drop it, his head craning down to see the scarlet-infused Relic protruding from his body. 

Each heartbeat was agony, each shallow breath making broken glass rake his lungs as he tried to fight back against the soft darkness beginning to claim him. 

_ Your Majesty...I have failed you... _

Hubert dared to hope for Edelgard’s salvation with his final thought before he succumbed to the gentle grasp of death. 

Maurice pulled his sword free from his target, watching as the two remnants of the armies broke apart and scrambled in different directions, finally getting the wisdom to not attack him. He would remain by Shambala to protect his king’s efforts within, but these enemies didn’t seem like they were willing to face him again. 

He looked out at the mangled bodies covering the bloodstained earth and wished the departed souls safety and paradise in the next life. 

“Forgive me, my king, but I’m afraid our reunion will have to wait just a little while longer, just until Shambala is safe from those who defy us,” Maurice hoped his king would understand, but he had a duty to fulfil. 

Maurice strode away from the battlefield in the direction of Shambala. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Enbarr loomed before them, roaming over the landscape and filling the skies with ancient buildings and more modern rooftops. In the dying light of the day, shrouded by the flames painting the sky, it looked quite beautiful. 

Dimitri studied the sturdy walls and towers keeping him from his prey, his gaze lingering on the monstrous fortified gatehouse that would be their primary target. Once that gate fell, they would have to subdue the garrison in the streets before moving on the palace, itself. 

“Your Highness!” a panting scout dashed up, a tuft of pegasus down clinging to her glove. “The Liberation Army has departed from Arianrhod and is making full speed south through Imperial territory! The Elites and Eisner have gone ahead and are at least a day and a half away from reaching us! Maybe less! The speed at which they’re moving is insane!” 

Dimitri’s blood went as cold as a Faerghus winter wind, shock gripping his nerves as he tried to keep himself standing. 

“Goddess, are we going to be able to break down the gates in time?” Ingrid gasped, running a critical eye over the heavily fortified gatehouse. 

“All our firepower combined would take days to smash through,” Claude swore under his breath, a warm breeze ruffling his hair and making his shoulder cape flutter. “Damn it! We don’t have time for a prolonged engagement! Teach will be right on top of us before we breach the walls!” 

“That’s exactly what Edelgard is hoping for,” Dimitri growled, his grip tightening on Areadhbar. 

Would that monster escape judgement after all? Would she get off without paying for her crimes? For starting this war? 

Hot rage simmered within at those thoughts, but Dimitri forced it down to focus on the logistical problems currently miring his army. 

“What now?” Annette asked nervously, Crusher wavering from where she held it on her shoulder. “Do we withdraw and just let the Professor catch up?” 

“No, absolutely not,” Felix snarled. “We break down that damn gate and take the fight to the Empire before he gets here.” 

“How?” Claude demanded. “We don’t have any siege equipment: no towers, no catapults or rams or anything! Even with our magical troops combined, our firepower will take forever to blast through the gate.” 

“I can do it,” Lysithea’s voice made them turn to face her, Dimitri frowning at the hard expression on her face. 

“Pardon?” Claude frowned at her, concern in his eyes as he looked into hers. 

Dimitri could almost see the wheels turning in her head, at the finality shimmering within those violet irises. “Lysithea?” 

“I can blast through the gates,” she declared, her gaze never wavering as she stared at the fortifications. “If Lorenz gives me Thyrsus.” 

“Thyrsus?!” Lorenz spluttered from nearby, protectively clutching the Relic to himself. “House Gloucester’s sacred Relic?” 

“I have the Crest of Gloucester. I can use Thyrsus and I think my magical abilities would be further enhanced than yours thanks to the experiments that had been done to me,” the girl explained, a faint tremor in her voice. “If I push enough power through the Relic, any spell I cast might be able to blast right through those gates.” 

“Lysithea, that could kill you!” Catherine surged forward, grabbing the girl’s shoulder. “If you push too much power through, it will start drawing on your life essence!” 

“No, absolutely not!” Dimitri was about to order Lorenz to lock Thyrsus away when Lysithea clenched her fists. 

“If you want to end this war before B-the Professor intervenes, then it’s our only choice!” she snapped, holding her hand out for the Relic that could end her life. “I don’t have long to live, anyway, so at least let me do something to ensure a peaceful future for everyone.” She swallowed, and Dimitri could see her fighting her trembling body. “Please.” 

“Lysithea,” Hilda reached out to the girl but hesitated, sorrow etching itself across her face. 

“She’s right,” Claude choked out, swallowing the bitterness of his own words. “If we don’t do this now, the Liberation Army will either slaughter us or get in the way and our war ends with Edelgard still holding all of the cards. Teach won’t be too happy about this, but if his army combines with the Imperial holdouts, then we could all die before we can free Fodlan from this madness.” 

“Unless we surrender,” Shamir suggested, which earned a harsh glare from Seteth. 

“If we surrender to the King of Liberation, then the Church will be destroyed and everything we’ve fought to protect will be ground to dust by Edelgard,” Catherine snarled, glaring at the gates as if she could punch her way through them. “And everyone we’ve lost will have died in vain.” 

“What’s to stop the Professor from just killing us all if he comes and Edelgard’s dead?” Sylvain spoke up. “He’s probably going to be heartbroken, and I know from experience how badly people can handle that.” 

“We’ll talk him down, and I know he’ll listen even if he needs time to grieve,” Claude swallowed. “I hope. Either way, we all accepted the risk that Teach might turn against us for doing this, right?” 

Somber nods all around. 

“We can’t stop because of what he might do, so we have to keep going,” Claude continued. “Lysithea, are you absolutely certain that this is what you want to do?” 

All eyes fell on the white-haired young woman, who nodded. 

“I am. Give me Thyrsus, Lorenz,” she again held out her hand for the Relic. 

Lorenz stared at her, his eyes wide with shock and Dimitri swore he saw no small amount of respect shining in the noble’s eyes. “Lysithea...all nobles should take inspiration from your courage and selflessness. I will look after your parents and your House, I swear it.” 

He handed over Thyrsus, which began to glow with unparalleled power the moment it entered Lysithea’s grasp. She gasped and clutched it with both hands as her veins began to glow. 

“Lysithea!” Dimitri wanted nothing more than to smack that thing from her grasp, but she shook her head as she took a few staggering steps forward. 

“S-stay b-b-back!” she spluttered, a low agonized moan escaping her as the glow in her veins continued expanding up her body. 

“Stop! You’re pushing your own life essence through the Relic!” Catherine stepped forward to stop the girl, but Dimitri grabbed her arm and halted her in her tracks. “Lysithea!” 

Lysithea glanced over her shoulder, a sad smile forming on her lips as those glowing veins lined her face. “S-s-sorry, s-s-sis.” 

She lifted Thyrsus high and then pointed it at the gatehouse, and a blinding beam of light erupted from the wand. Dimitri turned his head as the light seared into his eye, overwhelming waves of power crashing over his body along with enough heat to rival the sun. 

He faintly heard the sound of stone collapsing and metal shrieking in the distance, but the eruption of power droned on and on until the light faded. 

Dimitri turned his gaze back to Enbarr and shock punched him in the gut. 

The gatehouse was a melted pile of rubble and slag that left a massive gap in Enbarr’s walls, Imperial flags burning as they slowly descended to the scorched earth. 

“I did it,” Lysithea rasped, her voice so soft and weak it was almost lost to the wind as the girl collapsed, Thyrsus dimming as it fell from her hand. 

“Lysithea!” Hilda caught the girl and gently lowered her to the ground, Dimitri swallowing the lump in his throat as he looked at her. 

Her skin was flaky and dried out and her hair had lost its luster, so fragile now that a breeze would probably strip every follicle from her head. Her eyes were dulled and almost empty as she gazed up at everyone, cracked lips curving into a tiny, exhausted smile. 

“Let me...watch the sunset...” she whispered, her hoarse rasp almost impossible to hear. 

Hilda picked her friend’s small, fragile frame up into both arms and carried her over to the closest tree, then set her down with as much care as she could muster. Lysithea nodded as much as she could before lifting her dying gaze to the setting sun. 

Lorenz stooped and picked Thyrsus back up, the Relic glowing at his touch as he hooked it to his belt. 

“Well, it worked,” Claude muttered, ripping his gaze from Lysithea and turning it to the massive hole in Enbarr’s walls. “We can just waltz in and take the fight to the Empire.” 

“We’ll make our victory worth this,” Dimitri promised, taking Areadhbar into both hands as he gazed at his target. “Tonight, we bring the Empire crashing down.” 

His allies and friends gathered around him, their Relics blazing with light that had to strike fear in the hearts of every Imperial watching them. 

“Forward!” Dimitri roared, willing his voice to shake the very firmament of this planet. “Forward!” 

The Empire’s final battle had come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie: writing Lysithea's soon-to-be death hurt. I love pretty much all the characters, with some exceptions, but Lysithea has always been one of my absolute favorites. I've never killed her once during any of my playthroughs, so this is just painful.  
Also, for anyone confused by her death, I basically had her channel what life energy she had left through the Relic instead of just her magical power, using herself to fuel Thyrsus' overwhelming attack.


	27. To Fell an Empire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to stay as true to the characters as possible while unraveling the schemes going on, and I rewrote parts the chapter a couple times to make it flow better. I really wanted to avoid a repeat of my first Gronder chapter (gods, I still cringe when I think of that thing) so I will admit I obsessed over the details and messed with them to really make it click together in a comprehensible manner. I'm just hoping I did right by the story and by everyone.

Enbarr was burning under the rising moon, darkness punctured by raging flames and distant screams. Byleth’s heart sank further and further in his chest the closer the burning city came, a shock of white drawing his attention to something on the hills outside of it. 

“Edelgard? Dominic, move towards that hill!” Byleth pointed at his quarry and the Elite obeyed, urging his wyvern down. 

“Professor? What are we going to do?” Flayn and Fraldarius were right behind them, the remaining Elites dashing to make up the distance on their mounts. “Is that?” 

“It’s Lysithea,” Byleth realized as he saw the young woman’s white and blue dress, his gaze going to the wreckage that had been Enbarr’s main gatehouse. “I think she blew up the gates.” 

But why was she just laying there against the tree? Did she get hit? Dominic’s wyvern slammed into the ground and Byleth hurled himself off to rush for the girl. 

“Lysithea!” horror filled him at how frail the woman looked, how weak and small she’d become as her head slowly swiveled towards him. 

“Professor...” her voice was so soft he almost couldn’t hear it as he knelt at her side, clasping her hand in both of his. “I’m...glad I got...to see you again...” 

“Lysithea, what happened to you?!” she was dying, her brittle skin papery and lined with dark veins as unfocused eyes lingered on him. “Flayn, get over here!” 

“Can’t...save me...” the girl whispered, reaching her free hand up and brushing her fingertips against Byleth’s cheek. “Crests...Thyrsus...” 

She used Lorenz’s Relic to break down the gates, and the flood of power from her Crests snuffed out what life she had left. Byleth swore and looked back at the burning city of ancients, the tightness in his chest making it even harder to breathe as Flayn hurried over to him. 

“I can’t heal her,” the saint murmured, tears coursing down her cheeks. “She’s too far gone.” 

Wet heat stung his eyes, and the world blurred as he stared down at the dying face of Lysithea von Ordelia. 

“Don’t...cry, Professor...” she rasped, thin lips curling into a smile. “You...were always...so...kind. I’m...sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize, Lysithea,” Byleth urged, forcing himself to smile back at her. “I failed you. All of you. Everyone who’s died...I should have been faster. Stronger.” 

“Not your...fault. Never once blamed...you,” Lysithea shook her head, and Byleth could almost feel her life ebbing away. “Wanted...to see you...one last...time.” 

He leaned down and gently kissed her forehead, and her last breath washed over his face before the girl who’d been so fierce and determined slumped back against her tree, devoid of life. 

Flayn was crying as he gently lowered Lysithea’s hand and rose, his gaze returning to the city. That was it. Nobody else was going to die, not if he had anything to say about it. Even if it cost him his life, he would stop these Goddess-damned morons from killing each other! 

“We push for the palace,” he ordered, pausing when Gloucester and Charon knelt by Lysithea’s body and closed her eyes with tender fingers. 

“So young and yet so spirited...” Gloucester murmured. “Neither of our Crests belonged in her, but she carried them proudly. Forgive us, little one.” 

“She would have hated you calling her that,” Byleth’s voice cracked as he fought to keep the raging torrent of sorrow inside of him. “And she hated both of her Crests.” 

“She had every reason to,” Charon murmured. 

“They’re here, all of them,” Riegan spoke up. 

“I can feel anger and fear and desperation,” Daphnel reported, cocking his head curiously. “And sorrow. Much sorrow.” 

Goneril flexed his fingers, shaking the arm holding Freikugel. “She mourns greatly, she does. She clings to who she has left, determined to not lose anyone else.” 

“What is your will, my king?” Gautier asked. 

“We push for the palace: that’s where everyone will be headed and you will distract them while I go for El to get her the hell out of here,” Byleth cracked his knuckles and strode back to Dominic. “Flayn, Fraldarius will take you back to Seteth and the two of you can decide what you want to do. It was my pleasure to be your Professor and I am very grateful that I had this time with you.” 

“Professor? Please don’t say that!” Flayn ran forward and tackled him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and shaking her head. “You make it sound like we’ll never see each other again!” 

“We probably won’t, not if Seteth and your Church have anything to say about it,” Byleth held the ancient girl close to him, inhaling deeply to calm his nerves. “Not after I get to El and get her out of Fodlan. We’ll cross the border and leave this madness behind.” 

“Professor...” Flayn stared up at him, tears budding in her eyes. “Oh, I absolutely hate goodbyes...I’ve already said far too many!” 

“Then let us hope to meet again, little Cethleann,” Byleth let go of the former saint and swung up onto Dominic’s mount again. 

“Right! We will meet again, I promise!” Flayn climbed onto Fraldarius’s pegasus and held tightly as the beast took a running start before shooting up into the air. 

Byleth watched them go and nodded to himself, taking one last look at Lysithea’s still form. She looked so serene and peaceful, and at least now she was finally free of all the pressures and worries of her all-too short life. 

“Go, all of you! To the palace!” he ordered, and the Elites of Fodlan rode towards a city as old as they were for the last time. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Dimitri cut through yet another Imperial soldier and tossed the corpse aside, his gaze honed in on the looming Imperial Palace. The allies had flooded through the hole opened by Lysithea and pressed immediately towards the palace, the sheer weight of their numbers filling the streets and engaging the Imperial garrison at every turn, fighting them for every street and corner. 

The Relic-bearers had been on the front of it since the very beginning, ripping through soldiers with ease as their ancient weapons shone with the ferocity of fallen stars. Spells had filled the streets, setting off fires everywhere as explosions shook the city to its very core. 

It was disappointing to see so much history being destroyed around him, but a new history would be built in its place: a better history. 

“We’re almost there,” Sylvain rode over to him, the Lance of Ruin leaking blood. “Just one last push.” 

“Any sign of the Liberation Army?” Dimitri strode towards the great staircase going into the Palace, the other Relic bearers emerging from the smoke and ruins towards him. 

“Nothing, yet,” Claude explained, relief in his eyes. “Hopefully Teach won’t show up until it’s too late. Our casualties have been light so far, but-” 

“She’s there: Lady Rhea is in there, waiting for us,” Catherine butted in, the sheer ferocity in her face making Dimitri pity anyone who stood in their way. “This ends now, one way or another.” 

“I haven’t seen any of the surviving Black Eagles,” Marianne murmured, her voice steady despite the chaos. “I hope they’re okay...” 

“Dorothea should be the only one left, since Bernie and Petra are stuck in Brigid,” Hilda hefted Freikugel onto her shoulder, her dress and face streaked with blood. “I hope we don’t have to kill her.” 

“We might not have a choice,” Felix held his shield close to him and lifted his sword, determination in his eyes. “I hope Edelgard at least puts up a fight without her own Relic.” 

The group advanced up the stairs, Dimitri again calling on his dwindling reserves of courage at the thought of facing his step-sister one last time, willing himself to be ready to kill her. He didn’t know how he would face the Professor after this, but he would find a way somehow. 

Imperial soldiers desperately tried to stop them as they forced their way into the beautiful halls, painting the exquisite halls red with blood. The two-headed eagle banners were everywhere, mocking Dimitri and reminding him of the horrors he was committing as Areadbhar slashed through his enemies. 

Felix was running his sword across the portraits of past Emperors, slicing through them and making paper fall to the ground behind him. 

The group advanced up another tall stairwell and emerged in a massive courtyard filled with towering statues and a dark, star-studded sky gleaming silver with the full moon’s visage. 

A score of Imperial soldiers were arrayed before the great doors leading to where Dimitri knew to be the throne room and Edelgard, the familiar face of Dorothea Arnault standing tall at their head. 

Beastly roars made Dimitri look to see masked Demonic Beasts in the rooms to the east and west, a balcony lined with archers directly behind and above the stairs the invaders had just walked up. 

“How do we do this?” Dimitri hissed as his allies clustered together into a defensive circle. “We’re the only ones who’ve broken through, and our troops are holding off Imperial reinforcements.” 

“None of you are getting past me!” Dorothea announced, her melodious voice filling the chambers. “I’m sorry that it has come to this, but you leave me no choice!” 

“Dorothea, surrender! None of you need to die this day!” Dimitri called out, his gaze falling on the heavy battalion of armored soldiers wearing red capes with the Empire’s symbol emblazoned upon them. 

The Imperial Royal Guards...Goddess, this was going to be tough. 

“In the name of Emperor Edelgard, surrender!” one Royal Guard with a gold-lined helmet strode forward. “I swear on my title as Captain of the Royal Guards that you will be treated fairly!” 

“That’s Captain Camus, huh?” Claude pulled an arrow back on Failnaught, his gaze going to the open sky. “He’s supposed to be pretty tough.” 

“You have a plan, Claude?” Dimitri guessed, his eye going to the archers menacing the group. 

“Marianne, you ready?” Claude glanced over to the noblewoman, who gave a meek nod. “All we need now is...ah, here they come!” 

Wings beat overhead and shadows danced across the marble floors, all eyes lifting to see a score of wyverns streaming down into the palace, a green-haired man with a glowing spear at their head. 

“Knights of Seiros, with me! Destroy the Imperials!” Seteth roared, the white-armored knights riding in behind him echoing his cry as the wyverns swarmed into the Imperials in a storm of fangs, claws, and flashing steel. 

“Now, Marianne!” Claude yelled, and Marianne lifted her Relic-Blutgang, Dimitri thought it was called. 

Light flared from the weapon, its Crest Stone shining brightly as Marianne shouted. A pillar of pure white magic descended from above the archers on the balcony, washing over the soldiers and exploding among them. 

“Attack!” Dimitri bellowed, charging towards the stunned Imperials as the Royal Guards locked their shields in an attempt to weather the storm of wyverns shredding their soldiers. 

Spells flew from Mercedes, Annette, and Lorenz as the Relic bearers sprinted forward, Catherine’s battle cry shaking the firmament of the Palace. Alois and other Knights of Seiros hit the ground running as they dismounted, Shamir landing lightly atop a statue and firing arrows at anyone who fell within her sights. 

“For Lady Rhea!” Catherine hacked through an Imperial War Master with ease and sliced through a Sniper trying to draw a bead on Shamir. 

“For the Kingdom! For Fodlan!” Dimitri slashed through two soldiers in quick succession, a third falling with a glowing red arrow in his chest. 

Sylvain and Ingrid were two lances of death and destruction, their Relics making short work of everyone in reach as the glowing blades shattered armor with ease. 

Dorothea emerged in his line of sight, sending a powerful beam of lightning streaking right towards Felix, who lifted his shield and encased himself in a barrier of red light. The blinding Thoron slammed into the Aegis and scattered, fizzing harmlessly into nothing. 

“Get behind us, Lady Arnault!” the Royal Guards stormed into the melee, ripping Knights from their mounts as a score of wyverns strafed their powerful black shields. 

A screech and an eruption of magic made Dimitri glance over to where Alois had crushed the skull of one of the Demonic Beasts with his axe, the man’s loud voice booming as he laughed in triumph. Dedue was holding off the other Beast while Leonie was ducking around it, jabbing at it with her lance while trying to avoid its vicious claws. 

Dimitri charged at the cluster of Royal Guards, then leaped up and hurled Areadbhar full force at them. The Relic slammed into their raised shields with an explosive spray of energy, throwing the soldiers off of their feet and slamming them onto marble. 

He dashed forward and retrieved his weapon, only for a heavy metal fist to slam into his gut. Dimitri stumbled back a couple steps and looked down to see the gold-lined helm of Captain Camus pushing himself up, clutching his axe with both hands. 

“As long as I live, you will not lay a finger on Her Majesty!” he roared, swinging the heavy weapon with stunning speed. 

Dimitri tried to bring Areadbhar up to block the attack but the sheer force of the blow ripped the Relic from his hand and sent it spinning onto the floor, where other Royal Guards were picking themselves off and tossing aside their destroyed shields. 

“For Her Majesty!” 

One dropped as a blade of wind cracked his helmet open, another following suit as arrows of light shattered his armor and sent him tumbling backwards. 

Camus swung again, and Dimitri lashed out and managed to grab the axe’s heavy handle before its vicious head slammed into his chest. Dimitri pushed back against the man’s incredible strength, shoving the weapon away from him. 

“Get away from His Highness!” Ingrid impaled another Royal Guard and nearly lost her head to the dying man’s axe as he swung at her. 

“Ha!” Hilda slashed through one of the remaining Guards with Freikugel, shredding his armor and cape with ease before Marianne blasted another Royal Guard attempting to run the pink-haired girl through. 

“If I should fall this day, at least I will take you with me!” Camus suddenly ducked to the side and let go of his axe, Dimitri stumbling from the sudden loss of opposition. “Fall, Prince of Faerghus!” 

A knife gleamed as Camus pulled the weapon from his sleeve and lunged, Dimitri silently cursing his eagerness as he tried to turn his body to catch the blow. 

A red arrow sprouted from Camus’s throat, the captain gagging as his body crumpled to the ground. 

“Your...Majesty...” he rasped before falling still, and Dimitri pulled Areadhbar back into his hands after tossing aside the captain’s axe. 

Dorothea was all that remained along with a small group of soldiers, clustered before the main doors as the last of the Royal Guards fell before the onslaught of Relics and magic. The songstress was bleeding from several cuts and her normally well-groomed hair was disheveled from the rush of combat, but the determination blazing in her eyes made Dimitri pause. She lifted one hand and a shell of blue light appeared over the Imperial survivors. 

“Edie...I’m afraid I won’t be singing for you any longer,” the woman murmured, holding her other hand over her heart. “But this stage will be mine and no other’s!” 

She lifted that hand skyward, and red light began to glow from her palm. “Let the curtain fall here!” 

“Scatter!” Annette screamed. “She’s casting Meteor!” 

The Relic bearers scrambled to escape their oncoming doom and Dimitri looked up to see a blazing rock descending from the heavens, scribing a line of fire through the star-studded sky. Dimitri hurried back as fast as he could, Dedue appearing in front of him and raising his shield as the fire bathed the courtyard. 

“Stay behind me, Your Highness,” the towering knight commanded. 

Another shadow streaked across the sky towards the oncoming meteor, and Dimitri looked up to see what looked like a wyvern diving to intercept the spell. A small form wreathed in golden light leaped off of the wyvern, and the meteor exploded above the palace. 

Dimitri sensed great power resonating nearby, his fine hairs standing on end as his Crest boiled within his blood, the symbol flaring to life over his hand. He looked at the other Relic bearers and found them in similar states, their Crests shining in front of them save for Marianne. 

A familiar form slammed into the stone floor, cracking it as a cape fell into place around draconic armor, two blazing swords held in its grasp. 

“Oh, man,” Claude muttered, his voice tight with something similar to anticipation. “Teach made it.” 

“Dorothea, that was reckless,” the Professor’s monotone voice filled the stunned silence, and the man brushed some rock dust off of his armor. “I’m just glad we were able to destroy the meteor before it hit.” 

“Professor?!” Dorothea gasped, the woman apparently forgetting they were on a battlefield as she ran forward and flung her arms around him, making her shields disperse. “Professor!” 

A massive wyvern slammed into the courtyard between the two forces, its armored rider carrying the twin of Annette’s Crusher: Dominic. An ashen-grey pegasus clopped to the floor as well, one of its two passengers carrying the black Aegis Shield. 

“Brother!” Flayn, of all people, dismounted from the pegasus and tackled her stunned brother, closing his bleeding forehead with a burst of magic. 

“Flayn! Oh, thank the Goddess you’re safe!” the man looked ready to cry as he wrapped his smaller sister into his arms. 

Hoofbeats from the stairwell drew Dimitri’s attention, and he grabbed Dedue and hurled them both to the side as four massive horses galloped into the courtyard, four Elites dropping to the ground as the mounted knights spurred their beasts to Byleth’s side. 

“Oh, that’s where they were,” Hilda said weakly. 

“I don’t see Maurice,” Marianne murmured. 

“Dimitri, Claude,” Byleth’s voice made shivers go up Dimitri’s spine. “You both have a hell of a lot to answer for.” 

“We have a lot to answer for? That’s rich, Teach,” Claude twirled an arrow on his fingers, his gaze cold and calculating as he stared at the former professor. “You’re the one defending a mass murderer.” 

“I know Edelgard is guilty of starting this war and the violence that has covered Fodlan with blood,” Byleth eased himself out of Dorothea’s arms and strode forward to join his Elites. “But I am tired of watching my students die: Ferdinand; Caspar; Raphael; Cyril; Linhardt; and now Lysithea. No more.” 

“Shut up, traitor!” Leonie shouted. “You’re defending Captain Jeralt’s murderer!” 

“I killed Solon after Kronya was slain, and I wiped out the Agarthans who’d tried to lead Fodlan to ruin from the shadows,” Byleth said coldly. “The ones responsible for Duscur and for the death of my father have paid for what they've done.” 

Dimitri’s blood froze. “Cornelia was really responsible for Duscur? For my father?” 

Byleth nodded. “She was, and now she is dead along with the rest of her kind.” 

“Good. Now, all that’s left is to bring Edelgard to justice for plunging Fodlan into war,” Claude locked gazes with Dimitri, but there was something in those eyes that he couldn’t quite read. “Ready, Your Highness?” 

Dimitri nodded. “Ready. Mercedes!” 

“On it!” her magic wrapped around the Relic bearers and shot them into the fabric of the world, Dimitri gripping Areadbhar tightly as the ruined courtyard changed into the elaborate throne room. 

Edelgard was sitting on her throne, her sharp gaze piercing Dimitri as she took in the intruders who’d appeared in her chamber. 

“I heard Dorothea cast Meteor,” her commanding voice filled the room as she rose from her throne and lifted the sacred sword said to have been wielded by Saint Seiros. “I had hoped that your numbers would have dwindled, but it appears you’re more stubborn than anticipated.” 

Dimitri had no time to waste on words, so he surged towards the Emperor and gripped Areadbhar as tightly as his hands could. 

“Come! Let us decide the fate of Fodlan here and now!” Edelgard challenged, her sword slashing through a blade of wind launched by Annette. 

The doors thudded as something powerful slammed into them, making shivers go up Dimitri’s spine. He dared to glance over his shoulder just in time to watch the grand double doors fly off their hinges with an ear-shattering crack. The Professor spiraled through the opening like a ballista bolt, the twin serpents of his Relics blazing in a cyclone of destruction around him. 

The King of Liberation reborn shot through the allies, his spinning blades smacking Dimitri and sending him staggering back from the sheer force of the blow, as if a bear had backhanded his chest. The Professor hit the ground and rolled, coming up standing in between the Relic bearers and their intended prey, his gaze rising to meet Edelgard’s. 

“Byleth?” her stunned voice was followed by hurried footsteps as the Elites shoved their way through the broken door, reforming their line behind the allies “You came!” 

“Of course I did: I’m not going to sit back and let my students murder each other,” Byleth sheathed his swords and held a hand out to the Emperor. “El, let’s put an end to this.” 

“Agreed. Help me destroy our enemies and let us bring about Fodlan’s new dawn together,” Edelgard declared. 

“Attack! Now!” Claude ordered, pulling back an arrow at fire Edelgard. 

A black arrow from Riegan intercepted his attack, both arrows shattering in a burst of red light that made Claude yelp. Dimitri ran towards Byleth, determined to break through and get to Edelgard before she could escape. 

Blaiddyd’s demonic horse streaked past, the force of the massive beast almost knocking Dimitri onto the ground as the Elite swung his own Areadhbar at Dimitri’s head. 

Their Relics smashed together with enough force to send tremors of his arm, his lone eye gazing into the black horned helmet of his ancestor. Their strength was equal, neither gaining any ground against the other as they contested each other. 

“Must this end this way, bearer of my blood?” the Elite’s voice filled his head, echoing through his skull. “My king only desires peace.” 

“Your king is protecting a murderer,” Dimitri snarled. “She must pay for what she’s done!” 

He slammed a foot into Blaiddyd’s horse’s side and made the beast canter away, then shoved his opponent’s weapon back before sprinting towards Edelgard. He could hear his allies fighting the other Elites, felt the sheer power emanating from the clash of Relics against Relics. Spells exploded, voices were raised in shouts, and the ground itself shook as a black hammer made a crater in the marble floor. 

“This is just wrong!” Sylvain yelped as he ducked beneath Gautier’s black Lance of Ruin, his own Relic shearing off part of the Elite’s horse’s armor. 

Dimitri ducked through Felix and Fraldarius as the two traded blows with sword and lance, their shields flaring bright red with each attack they caught. 

“Get out of my way, damn it! Lady Rhea is waiting for me!” Catherine roared, but Dimitri couldn’t hear Charon’s response as he kept running towards Edelgard and her protector. 

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Blaiddyd’s voice made a shiver go up Dimitri’s spine, and something grabbed his ankles. 

Dimitri swore as his legs were yanked out from under him, pain rocketing through his skull as his head smacked against the stairs. 

“El, come with me, please,” Byleth’s voice was coming through the ringing in Dimitri’s ears as the sound of combat dimmed around him. “I will not let anyone else die here.” 

“My love, as much as I wish I could, I cannot just walk away,” Edelgard’s voice answered as a large shadow fell across Dimitri’s vision. “I will not abandon my dreams for Fodlan, not even for you.” 

“El, look! If I hadn’t gotten the Elites here, Dorothea would be dead and you likely would be as well! Please, come with me!” Dimitri looked up to see Blaiddyd towering over him, his left hand shining with a magical aura while his horse watched them from behind. 

“Then the path open to you, the only path open to you, lies across my grave. It is time you found the courage to walk it,” Dimitri tried to lift Areadbhar, but his swirling head and liquid muscles made the move impossible. 

“Like hell it is,” Byleth growled. “El, don’t you dare!” 

A dark shape slammed into Blaiddyd, metal screeching as a familiar armored form rammed the Elite with his shield. 

“You will not harm His Highness!” Dedue bellowed, his axe ringing against the black Areadbhar as Blaiddyd caught the strike. 

As they moved aside, Dimitri was given a view of Edelgard swinging her sacred sword at Byleth, who caught the blow with both of his Relics. 

“El, stop this!” Byleth parried another strike and backed away from Edelgard as she pressed her attack, slashing and thrusting at him. “I will not fight you! Lower your sword!” 

“You know I can’t,” she retorted. “If you will not fight with me, then you are against me!” 

“Dimitri!” a burst of warmth flooded into his body, chasing away the pain and sharpening his senses. 

He shook his head and pushed himself up, grabbing his Relic and pushing his weight back onto his legs. “Thanks, Mercedes!” 

Dedue. He was still fighting Blaiddyd! 

Dimitri turned to see the Elite hammering at Dedue’s shield, splintering it and tearing through the metal. He lunged at the Elite’s back, but the black-armored form whirled with supernatural speed before thrusting a clawed hand out. A blast of power slammed into Dimitri’s chest and sent him staggering back a few feet. 

“My king has forbidden me from killing you or yours,” Blaiddyd’s voice scraped through his skull again. “Thus, I will beat you into submission.” 

They were forbidden from killing? 

Dimitri lifted his aching head again to look at the fighting raging around him, saw that the Elites were purposely ignoring openings that would have led to their opponent’s death. Goneril was batting aside Hilda’s strikes while kicking or swatting her exposed sides in an attempt to wear her down. Meanwhile, Daphnel and Gautier were double-teaming a bleeding Sylvain as he desperately tried to stay out of their reach, leaving Ingrid to fend them off as best as she could with the two Elites riding in slow circles around them. 

Annette was pinned to the ground while Dominic’s massive wyvern held her down with a heavy foot on her back, the Elite holding both Crushers out of her reach as the poor girl flailed helplessly from beneath his mount. Mercedes and Lamine were flinging bolts of white magic at each other, but the spells collided and fizzled out without actually hitting anyone, and Dimitri glimpsed Gloucester setting Lorenz’s hair on fire before blasting him onto the ground with a burst of light. 

Marianne was following behind Catherine as the knight bled onto the stones from a gash in her leg, closing her wounds as best as she could while Charon was handily defending himself from Shamir’s arrows and the swordmaster’s own attacks, their Relics throwing sparks as they clashed again and again and again at manic speeds. 

Claude and Riegan were warily circling each other as best as the melee allowed, but the Master Tactician wasn’t firing a single shot as his gaze darted here and there, scanning the violence. 

“Not good...this is not going to plan. Come on, Teach, I’m throwing you a bone, here...” the man muttered. 

What? What are you planning, Claude? 

“You cannot win, not against us,” Blaiddyd rasped. “Please, stop fighting.” 

Dimitri looked back at the Elite, then heard a yelp behind him. He turned to see Byleth disarm Edelgard before kicking her sword off of the raised dais to the ground below. 

“El, you are being stubborn and ridiculous,” he declared. “Come: I’m getting you out of here.” 

Rage smoldered through Dimitri’s mind and he prepared himself to race after the duo before Edelgard could escape. If he had to kill the Professor and Edelgard to ensure that she paid for her crimes, then so be it! 

Edelgard stared at Byleth, disbelief in her eyes as a tiny smile curved her lips. “You call me stubborn and ridiculous yet here you are trying to make me flee my own palace.” 

“Because you are their target and I’ll be damned if I lose anyone else, especially you,” Byleth said, holding his hand out to her yet again. 

Dimitri lunged, a spell from Blaiddyd shooting right over his head as he aimed Areadbhar’s head at Edelgard. Byleth whirled with blinding speed, catching Dimitri’s strike with both of his own Relics, the two stones in the black Sword of the Creator shining brightly. 

“Dimitri, enough of this,” the professor’s gold-hued eyes bore into his very soul, disappointment flickering along with the flames. “Lower your weapon.” 

“I think not, not as long as that monster lives!” Dimitri pushed against both weapons, noting how his Crest-infused strength was forcing the Professor back. “I don’t want to kill you, but I will if I must!” 

Sadness flickered in Byleth’s eyes. “Haven’t enough people died?” 

A flurry of red from the side made him look, a curse escaping his lips as Edelgard leaped from the dais and hit the ground, scooping up her sword and whirling to face the others. 

“There she is! Stop her! Seteth and several Knights of Seiros burst through the door, Alois loosing a deafening bellow before charging at Edelgard. 

“Edie, run!” Dorothea yelled. “There’s more of them coming! They’ve taken us prisoner!” 

“Don’t let her escape!” Seteth roared. “Capture her alive: we need to know where Lady Rhea is!” 

Dimitri tried to shove Byleth off-balance to pursue Edelgard, but the Professor’s strength suddenly became a steel wall. Byleth’s eyes flashed golden, and Dimitri swore he caught a glimpse of a towering warrior with white braided hair before a metal-covered knee slammed into his gut. 

The air was ripped from his lungs, making him double over, and hot agony spliced his skull as a heavy object slammed into his head. The world spun as Dimitri’s legs were swept out from under him, the impact making stars dance across his vision. 

He was laying right on the edge of the dais, Areadbhar tumbling into the miniature moat with a loud splash. Edelgard ran towards the eastern edge of the room as Alois steamed after her, his axe raised. 

Byleth leaped down and sprinted after the Knights of Seiros pursuing Edelgard, his Relics snapping out towards them. The serpents swept out the feet of several of them, making them tumble onto the ground in a clatter of metal against stone as their weapons skittered away. 

Edelgard dashed through the door and vanished beyond Dimitri’s sight, followed closely by Alois and the other Knights of Seiros. Byleth rushed after them, stopping only when Seteth barred his way with his glowing lance. 

“Stand down, Professor!” the advisor ordered. “I allowed Dorothea and the others to be taken prisoner and live, but I will make no such compromise for Edelgard. If you stand in my way, then you will be an enemy of the Church of Seiros.” 

“Get out of my way, Cichol,” Byleth growled, the name making Seteth flinch. 

Cichol? As in Saint Cichol? Was Seteth like Rhea? Did that make Flayn Cethleann? 

“I think not,” Seteth recovered his composure, lifting his lance with both hands. “You know Edelgard is a threat to all of Fodlan, to everything that the Church is trying to protect.” 

“Your Church is the cause of all of this, aside from the Agarthans,” Byleth answered. “You are hardly innocent, and neither is Seiros. You have been lying to all of Fodlan, murdering those who won’t kneel to you, and indoctrinating everyone else in a faith that Seiros made to control the entire nation.” 

Seteth flinched again. “I...did not wholly approve of everything she’s done over these long years. I just wanted somewhere for Flayn to be safe.” 

“But you participated in it nonetheless. Stand aside,” Byleth hefted both weapons, his voice as hard as his blades. “Now.” 

The world was slowly sharpening back into focus and Dimitri could feel strength returning to his body. Good, he could get up and deal with Edelgard before she got too far. 

Seteth stood aside, lowering his lance. “Just don’t slaughter the Knights, please.” 

Byleth hurried past him, vanishing into the other room. Dimitri pushed himself to stand up, looking at the fight to see that most of the Elites and other Relic bearers had dueled each other into a standstill, eyeing one another warily as their weapons glowed with power. Dedue was lying on his back with Blaiddyd’s black Areadbhar at his throat. The Elite towered over both of them, a glowing palm aimed at Dimitri. He wasn’t going anywhere, not now. 

Wait...Claude was gone, as was Reigan. Where the hell did they go? 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Byleth’s Crest blazed as he raced towards the open stairway where he could see Edelgard desperately holding off Alois and half a dozen other Knights of Seiros. Her shield lay in pieces on the floor, one of her hair buns had become undone and left a cloak of white hair swaying around her as she ducked and dove between blades and axes. Her armor was torn in several places, as was her cape, and her face was streaked red with blood. 

Three knights lay dead on the ground, their white armor stained red, and Byleth stepped over them to sprint towards his beloved. 

“Alois! Behind us!” a Knight yelled, three of them immediately breaking away from Edelagrd to intercept Byleth. 

He snapped his swords out and slammed his attackers with the flat ends, knocking them all down against the stone. 

“They’re too strong!” another Knight shouted, his sword being shattered by Edelgard’s swing before her next jammed her sacred blade into his gut. 

“You don’t deserve to wield that holy sword!” one Knight snarled, only for said holy sword to cut him down. 

Now that the numbers pressuring Edelgard had dwindled, the Emperor was able to handily fend off her remaining enemies, her Crest of Flames blazing brightly as she nearly cut her next victim in half. 

Alois was now alone, his eyes going back and forth between the two who were now menacing him. 

“Alois, take your wounded and go,” Byleth lowered his swords, keeping an eye on Edelgard as she aimed her blade at the remaining Knight of Seiros. “I don’t want to kill you.” 

“Lady Rhea needs me! I cannot turn my back on my oaths to the Church!” a deathly serious expression was on his normally jovial face, his eyes gleaming with determination. “I do not want to fight you, either, Professor, but a Knight of Seiros always does his duty!” 

“A pity,” Edelgard seethed. “Since you die for a church built upon lies and tyranny.” 

Byleth whipped out his left Sword of the Creator, the black blade wrapping around Alois’s torso before the man could move. He pulled and threw the man into the nearby wall, wincing at the crack of metal and stone as Alois slumped onto the ground, groaning. 

“There,” Byleth turned to Edelgard, his still heart smoldering as his Crest responded to hers. 

Even now, battleworn and bleeding and disheveled, she still looked absolutely beautiful. 

“Byleth, what is it you are trying to do?” she asked, absently running a hand through her uncoiled hair as it fell around her shoulder and arm. “None of this makes sense.” 

“I’m trying to make you idiots stop killing each other. I’ve already failed in that regard, but that ends here,” Byleth pushed through the grief threatening to crush his chest. “It’s become clear to me that Dimitri and the Church will stop at nothing to kill you even if I get them to agree to peace with the Empire. I was going to pull all of you into a conference at Garreg Mach and try to talk the others into exiling you from Fodlan instead of killing you, but it appears peace talks are out of the question.” 

“Huh, looks like I was right,” Claude’s voice came from behind, where the man was leaning up against the circular staircase’s railing. “And I take it you were going to exile yourself to go with her?” 

Riegan was standing next to him, the black Failnaught still in his hands. 

“I was, yes,” Byleth nodded, sensing no danger from the Alliance lord. 

“Byleth...” Edelgard whispered, her embarrassment and adoration flooding the link between their Crests. 

“So, what was your plan, Claude?” Byleth asked, curiosity trickling in through the battle-heightened senses flooding his veins with adrenaline. “Let the Empire and Kingdom wipe each other out before subduing both, or were you using Dimitri as a scapegoat hoping that I would kill him for killing Edelgard?” 

Claude chuckled and looked out the staircase at the night sky overhead. “Fodlan can’t survive so long as the Church is in control of it, you’ve shown me that. Rhea, or Seiros, and the other Children of the Goddess have done everything they can to divide everyone to keep us under their control, and my dreams will never come to fruition so long as they’re in power.” He pushed off of the railing and turned to face Riegan. “What’s dividing us will never be broken down unless we reach our hands out to one another, accepting that while we might have our differences, we can push past them and work together to build something better.” 

Claude sighed and hung his head. “I never intended for so many of our classmates to die, but I knew casualties were unavoidable. Lysithea wasn’t supposed to...” 

Byleth shook his head, forcing away the heavy grief filling his heart. 

“It sounds like you have quite the ambition,” Edelgard murmured after a few tense moments of silence. “Perhaps we could have worked together instead of being enemies.” 

Claude gave her a wry smile. “You sure you would have wanted that? I would have been an unpredictable threat, and I wasn’t about to hand over the Alliance to someone I felt was going to ruin my dreams. I tried to be neutral at first, giving me time to grease some wheels in the Alliance and elsewhere, but Count Gloucester did his best to derail my plans at every turn and I realized pretty quickly that a blow needed to be struck against the Empire if I was to get him and the other pro-Imperial lords off my back.” 

“So you let the Knights of Seiros attack Myrddin, hoping it would ease the pressure Count Gloucester was feeling from the Empire and give you the time you needed for your plans,” Edelgard chuckled. “While making the Knights a bigger target that would remove one of your greatest opponents should they be wiped out by the Empire. But why take to battle at Gronder?” 

“To make sure that the Empire didn’t emerge victorious and push to take back Myrddin before invading the Alliance,” Byleth guessed, Claude nodding. 

“Bingo, Teach. Thanks to you showing up at Gronder and revealing the true identity of the Church of Seiros and those leading it, I thought that this would make it easier to break down the restrictions and power built up by the Church once I spread that news to every corner of Fodlan, and that you would help whittle away at their influence and work on making Fodlan a more unified and accepting place. Then I realized that the ‘Holy’ Kingdom of Faerghus would likely resist you and give the Church a bastion to fall back on in its territory, especially after seeing how, uh, feral Dimitri had been,” Claude rubbed the back of his head, a sheepish grin forming on his lips. “So, I came up with the idea of using the Kingdom to attack the Empire while you were halfway across Fodlan attacking Arianrhod, citing you likely letting Edelgard off easier due to your relationship with her to encourage the Kingdom to fight. I figured Dimitri would jump at the chance to kill her, and your broken heart would lead to you killing him and then you and I would work together to remove the Church’s influence on Faerghus and the rest of Fodlan.” 

It was clever and ridiculously daring, but Claude had clearly thought it through. Byleth was actually impressed by the sheer creativity of it. With Faerghus in chaos without a royal family, it would possibly be much more amenable to outside rule if said rule was more benevolent than Cornelia, managed to stabilize everything and get the nation back to running smoothly. 

“Yet, you clearly didn’t account for Byleth not wanting to kill anyone and follow your little plan,” Edelgard said dryly. 

Claude chuckled. “True, and it seems Dimitri is going to survive this after all, but I think I might be able to bend his ear a bit, depending on how strict his advisors are to adhering to tradition and all that nonsense. The question here is: what are you two going to do? Dimitri’s not going to want to let Edelgard live, especially since her followers will likely continue to resist if we say she just escaped and fled Fodlan.” 

“Ah,” he had a point: the Imperials who truly believed in Edelgard would likely resist the Kingdom and Alliance if news spread that Edelgard could possibly be alive, hoping that she would return to continue the fight in the future. “So, we fake Edelgard’s death?” 

“Need to make it convincing, Teach,” Claude peered over Byleth’s shoulder. “And do it quickly.” 

Right, they were probably running out of time just standing around talking. Seteth or someone else would be barging in any time now, and Byleth didn’t know how much longer Dimitri would be incapacitated. 

He turned to Edelgard and examined her bloody face and her disheveled hair, realizing that it was quite difficult to tell if she was bleeding due to the color of her armor. Goddess, she was so beautiful. 

“El, I have an idea,” he lifted both Swords of the Creator. “Lift your sword as if you were trying to block an attack.” 

Edelgard’s eyes lit up in understanding and she did as he asked, holding the sacred sword out horizontally just above her forehead. “Like this?” 

“Hold still: I don’t want to actually cut your face,” Byleth swung down with all the strength he could muster, the blades of the King of Liberation snapping the sword of the ancient Saint. 

Edelgard’s golden crown fell to the ground in two pieces alongside the remains of the sword, her surprised look being framed by her long white hair as the other bun was undone. Byleth then twisted his wrist and cut into his arm, gritting his teeth at the flare of pain that accompanied it. 

“My love?!” Edelgard reached out to him, hesitating when Byleth let the blood fall onto the marble floor. “Are you...making a blood trail?” 

“Adorable,” Claude muttered. “But I can hear some people running over here, so it’s safe to say that you’re out of time.” 

Byleth nodded and sheathed his swords, grabbing Edelgard’s arm and dragging her towards the stairwell. He let his cut arm bleed all over the floor as he went, making sure not to get it all over Edelgard as the warmth of her Crest sank into his body. 

The cool night air washed over him as he pulled Edelgard over to the open stairwell, glancing outside at the expanse outside of it. He could try that one spell Lamine had shown him, the one that would- 

The ground shook violently, as if the earth itself had writhed. 

“What the hell was that?!” Claude stammered, Riegan grabbing him to keep him upright as another tremor shook the walls of the palace and made paintings and flags fall off with loud crashes. 

“Oh, no,” Edelgard murmured. “I’d forgotten.” 

“Forgotten what?” Byleth demanded, pulling her to him as an even stronger third quake nearly threw them off their feet. 

A loud explosion and a crash came from somewhere else in the palace, followed by a shrieking roar that Byleth swore he’d heard before. He ran back over to the stairwell and looked up at the sky, seeing flames and smoke rising from somewhere to the side of the palace. 

Another roar shattered his eardrums, and flames erupted in a second explosion from the source of the quakes, the fireball splitting as a massive white form shot out from beneath it. 

Byleth’s blood froze in his veins despite his close proximity to Edelgard: it was a dragon. The beast was massive, perhaps a bit larger than Macuil and covered in pure white scales, with strange black streaks and patches stretching across its serpentine body. 

“The Immaculate One,” Edelgard confirmed what he was thinking as the beast rose into the sky on titanic wings that glowed with unnatural yet eerily familiar lights. “Rhea.” 

“You didn’t destroy the Agarthans that were here?” Byleth demanded, turning to her. 

She shook her head. “I couldn’t: the door they’d locked themselves behind was impossible to drill or blast through and I couldn’t get around it.” 

The beast shrieked again, circling higher and higher on its wings as it fired a beam of blindingly bright energy at the heavens. 

“What is it going to do?” Claude murmured. 

As if in answer, the beast turned what Byleth assumed to be north and then flew away, shrieking again as soared over Enbarr. 

“We need to follow her,” Byleth murmured, calling on the last spell that he’d found in Shambala. 

“How?!” Edelgard demanded, pausing when she looked at him. “You have a plan.” 

He held his hand out to her and she took it, their warmth spreading through his veins. “Do you trust me, El?” 

She smiled. “Of course I do, you know that.” 

“Claude, I leave things here to you and maybe Dimitri,” Byleth turned to look at the Master Tactician, who nodded. 

“Good luck, Teach. Now, get the heck out of here before someone else sees you,” Claude made a shooing motion, which made a smile crack Byleth’s face. 

Byleth drew the needed spell up and chanted the incantation, his body tingling as the magic coursed through his veins. The world became grainy and unfocused, but he could sense the unnatural presence of the Immaculate One like a beacon. 

All they had to do now was follow it. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Dimitri hauled himself out of the moat, gasping for breath and yanking Areadbhar out onto the marble as he shook water out of his eye and hair. 

Those earthquakes, explosions and monstrous roars had thrown everyone into disarray, throwing several pillars, coats of arms, and other decorations onto the ground with ear-shattering crashes. His allies were picking themselves up off of the ground, and Dimitri frowned as he saw the Elites standing like statues where they’d been positioned. 

“Your Highness! Are you okay?!” Dedue was there, his strong hands grabbing Dimitri’s arms and hauling him out of the moat. “What was that?” 

Dimitri looked over at Seteth, who was holding Flayn as the girl clutched at her ears, her eyes wide with horror. The man’s face was completely drained of color, the haunted expression in his eyes not even concealing the recognition also present within eyes that looked centuries old. 

“I don’t know,” Dimitri was about to ask Blaiddyd what the hells was going on when the towering Elite’s body began to dissolve into ash. 

“Huh?! What’s going on?!” 

“The Elites!” 

“What happened?!” 

The undead warriors were all crumbling into ash, the gritty particles swirling into the air before spiraling in a massive storm after where the Professor and Edelgard had gone. 

Dimitri ran after the departing ash cyclone, pausing by Seteth when he felt the man staring at him. “What is this?” 

“The Immaculate One,” Seteth murmured. 

“Rhea?” Dimitri frowned. “That was Rhea? Could you understand her?” 

Seteth nodded slowly. “The dragon...it’s not Rhea, not anymore. That scream...it was feral, enraged. Whatever beast has just emerged, it’s fixated on Rhea’s old hatred and is likely going to act on it.” 

“Old hatred? What old hatred? Where is she going?!” Dimitri fought the urge to grab the man and shake some sense into him. “Seteth!” 

“Fhirdiad,” Flayn whimpered, making them both look down at her. “She’s going to Fhirdiad: the old kingdom of Nemesis.” 

Dimitri’s blood ran even colder. “Fhirdiad was part of Nemesis’s old kingdom? And Rhea’s going there?!” 

He ran after the departing ash, skidding into the side room that Edelgard had fled into only to find Claude staring out the stairwell balcony into the night sky, ignoring the white forms strewn about the ground. 

“Claude! What happened?! Where are Edelgard and the Professor?!” Dimitri sprinted forward, stopping only when he saw a large trail of blood leading to where Claude was standing, a familiar golden crown and sword lying in pieces at its origin. 

“Edelgard’s dead,” Claude said grimly. “Teach took her body and cast some sort of spell that turned him and the Elites to ash. They’re following the Immaculate One.” 

Dimitri’s heart ached, his mind struggling to wrap around the news. “She’s dead? You’re absolutely certain?” 

“I am. Her head was almost split in half, Dimitri. There’s no way she survived that,” Claude sighed, shaking his head. “I almost lost my dinner, looking at it. Edelgard is dead, Dimitri, and Teach is going after the Immaculate One. It’s over: we’ve won.” 

Dimitri couldn’t speak as he digested the words, looking at the broken crown as he tried to wrap his head around the news. Edelgard, dead. It was finally over. 

Somehow, he knew in his heart that she was gone forever, and Fodlan could change for the better now. 

“It’s all up to you now, Professor.” 


	28. Endgame: The Beginning of a New Dream

She was still in the darkness, still feeling the pain as those beasts from the earth ripped open her flesh and put their unnatural metal into her. She flew through the darkness at the face that had tormented her throughout her stay in the dungeon, at the eyes that had watched as Zanado and everything she’d ever loved were destroyed around her. 

Nemesis. She should have destroyed him, destroyed everything he’d ever created, everything that he’d ever cherished. 

Nemesis. He’d tainted her mother’s vessel, ruined everything. 

Nemesis...his memory would burn, burn just like all the rest. 

The woman once named Seiros screamed into the darkness, and the darkness screamed back. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Edelgard clung as tightly to Byleth as she could, focusing on the heat of their conjoined Crests to keep her mind intact through this grainy visage that had become the world. She felt great power resonating from elsewhere and looked over to see other forms in the haze, carrying shining Relics. This weightlessness was so strange, so different to riding a pegasus or wyvern! She felt disembodied, floating about without a care on the world as her eyes roamed among the red stars. 

Her gaze lingered on Riegan, and she found herself shaking her head ruefully. To think Claude had orchestrated so much just for the sake of his dreams...Edelgard could respect his determination, let alone his creativity in it. She hoped he wouldn’t make her regret her decision to leave Fodlan to him, given that they both dreamed of a Fodlan free from the yoke of the Church of Seiros. 

Not to mention that the thought of running away to start a new life with Byleth was...intoxicating. 

She could feel the great, contaminated mass that was the Immaculate One, no doubt ravaged by the Agarthans who’d held her in their grasp. The creature was getting further and further away, making it difficult to keep track of it. 

“Something’s wrong,” Byleth grunted, breaking the eerie silence and almost making Edelgard lose her grip on him. “I’m feeling smaller presences all over Fodlan that feel like smaller dragons, but that shouldn’t be possible. They’re just popping up.” 

How could that be? Edelgard wracked her mind, trying to recall something, anything, that Nemesis or Sothis had said five years ago that could help. 

“Wait, didn’t Nemesis once say something about Rhea implanting her blood and parts of a Crest Stone into her most loyal followers?” she asked as the revelation hit her. 

“Yes. If she’s gone feral, then it makes sense that those who were essentially implanted with her blood and Crest Stone would have been affected by it in a similar way,” Byleth murmured. “They’ll be defending her once we get to wherever she’s headed, so we’ll have quite a fight on our hands.” 

Edelgard sighed. “One more battle for the sake of Fodlan and then what? Where did you want to go?” 

“I don’t know. Brigid is out of the question because I don’t want to endanger Petra and Bernie. Sreng is too close to the Kingdom,” Byleth looked over at her with his heart-melting grin on his lips. “Maybe Almyra or Morfis? Perhaps Dadga?” 

“You don’t consider Almyra too close to the Alliance?” Edelgard raised what she assumed was her eyebrow as she looked at the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with. 

“Claude won’t be looking for us the same way Dimitri would, so we might be able to avoid having an army coming after us,” Byleth shrugged his grainy shoulders. “The further away from Fodlan we get, the better.” 

“I don’t care where we go, so long as I am with you,” Edelgard replied, gripping the warmth of his hand even tighter. 

“And here I thought I was the hopeless romantic,” Byleth chuckled. “I love you, El.” 

Those three blasted words made her smoldering heart melt even more than it had just from him coming to save her, and she wasn’t sure if this fuzziness was from the spell or from him. 

“I love you too, Byleth,” she whispered. “Now, where is Rhea going? We’re headed north, are we not?” 

“I think I know where she’s going: Fhirdiad,” Byleth answered. “The old kingdom of Nemesis.” 

Oh. That...made sense. If Rhea had gone feral thanks to the Agarthans, one of the memories they may have focused on during their vile experiments would have been Nemesis, perhaps focusing on her hatred of him. She was getting farther away, making it harder for Edelgard to sense her, but her thoughts went back to the Agarthans. 

Those monsters didn’t have long to live, now, especially since their hideout now had a massive hole in it courtesy of the Immaculate One. Claude might hold a couple alive just to get information out of them, but this was the end of the Agarthan race. The nightmare that had become Fodlan would finally be free of its tormentors that slithered in the dark. 

But for now, Edelgard was content to soar along with her beloved as the spell took its course, time blurring into an incomprehensible, grainy mush. 

“How long does this spell last?” she asked after what felt like an eternity of comfortable silence, no longer sensing the Immaculate One’s contaminated presence. “I cannot feel her anymore.” 

“I can feel her minions all around her, but they’ve gotten quite a lead on us,” Byleth grunted. “I can’t push the magic any faster.” 

Edelgard digested the words, a grim realization surfacing within her mind. “We may not arrive in time to stop her from attacking the city. We might get Fhirdiad while it’s in flames.” 

Byleth’s grip on her hand tightened. “I know. We save as many lives as possible, put Rhea out of her misery, then get out of here.” 

Part of Edelgard wanted to feel triumph at the prospect of killing the woman she’d hated for so long, but another part of her pitied the poor creature she’d become. Edelgard had been in the clutches of the Agarthans once, and knew firsthand how brutal their...ministrations had been. 

Perhaps this would be a mercy for both of them. 

They cruised in silence through the grainy visage of the world, and Edelgard did the one thing she’d been fighting for the past five years: she allowed herself to dream, of Byleth, of their future. 

Whatever land they settled in, perhaps they would live in a simple village away from the nation’s larger cities, where Byleth could use his mercenary experience to land jobs as a hunter or maybe a warrior of the like while Edelgard used her axe proficiency for lumber purposes. She imagined herself in their simple cabin or whatever home they may have, situated in a secluded clearing away from the rest of the village. Edelgard would likely be home after finishing up whatever work she had for the day, trying to figure out what to make for their dinner when Byleth would return, grimy and sweaty from a long day’s labor and yet he would smile and laugh at her struggles with dinner before swooping in to save the day. 

She was not a talented cook, by any means, and the thought of trying to serve anything still filled her with dread, but she would certainly make the attempt for Byleth. 

“What are you thinking about?” Byleth’s voice made her snap back to reality. “You have the most adorable smile on your lips right now.” 

Had she really been smiling?! 

“I, um...was thinking about the future,” Edegard mumbled, silently cursing the heated embarrassment she knew was coloring her cheeks. This was Byleth, of all people! “Our future, wherever we end up after this.” 

She looked up to see him smiling down at her, his eyes shining with emotion. “Must be quite a future if it has you smiling in such an adorable manner.” 

She smiled back at him, the core of her heart smoldering within her chest. “It is.” 

A cold, dark sensation washed over her, making whatever else she was going to say shrivel up within her throat. Edelgard turned her gaze to where they’d been pursuing the Immaculate One and glimpsed a shape roughly recognizable as Fhirdiad in the gloom. The only thing that made her pause was the red glow that permeated much of the city, flickering and undulating like crimson flowers blooming after a long winter’s snow. 

“We’re here,” Byleth’s voice was tight. “You were right, El: the city’s on fire.” 

The gloom suddenly flared as a beam of light pierced the haze, sparking off a chain of smaller flares as it streaked through the city. Edelgard could almost hear the screams of the wounded and the dying, those who would be engulfed by flames or shredded by the merciless fangs and claws of the beasts ravaging their ancient city. 

Her hate came much easier now, stoked by the memories of pain and agony, of blood and ruin. Of that filthy witch, parading about as she ground Fodlan down beneath her gilded heels while spouting nonsense about the Goddess’s love. 

How ironic that Sothis’s vessel, the one she’d created, would be her undoing. 

“I’ll set us down as close as I can to her,” Byleth grunted, his face set with exertion. “Be ready to fight.” 

Edelgard’s mouth dried out as one very obvious detail that she’d overlooked blasted to the forefront of her mind. “Fight? Fight with what? I don’t have any weapons!” 

The cold gripped her chest even as the air grew warmer, thick with ash and smoke and the screeching of the beasts now laying waste to the city. They careened downwards at speeds that sent her stomach into her throat, the unnatural weightlessness that she’d been suspended in for what felt like an eternity suddenly upended as her feet slammed into solid ground. 

The world sharpened into focus around her, the grainy haze instantly morphing into chaos and a maelstrom of flames, bestial roars, and human screams. Edelgard’s jellied legs almost made her fall on her face, but strong arms took hold of her and saved her the embarrassment, not to mention the bruise or broken nose that may have accompanied it. 

“Easy,” Byleth’s voice was almost lost as the Immaculate One’s ear-splitting shriek shattered the night sky with another beam of light blasting a trench through the city walls. 

The smaller beasts, more akin to wyverns, were diving at anything moving in the wreckage, their white scales deformed and the webbing on their wings lined with thick black veins. Their draconic heads were equally deformed, as if a child had brought them to life from a crude drawing, but their dagger-like fangs and the flames roaring from their throats were all too lethal. 

“NEMESIS!” the shriek was deafening, almost making Edelgard’s ears pop from the pressure of the warped voice filling Fhirdiad. “WHERE ARE YOU?! I WILL KILL YOU!” 

“She is not happy,” Byleth deadpanned, and Edelgard resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “El, are you-” he paused as he scrutinized her, or more specifically, her empty hands. “Right, I broke your sword.” 

“If we can find a soldier or even an armory, I could take a weapon,” Edelgard wanted to believe those words, but the chaos and the significant lack of armed personnel within sight made that idea wilt. 

A screech from overhead made them both look up to see one of the small dragons diving towards them, its misshapen maw opened wide. Byleth drew his twin Relics and sent the serpentine blades streaking upwards, piercing the creature’s goopy hide. 

Green blood spurted from its wounds as the beast spiraled down, crashing into a building and cracking wood and bone, alike before splattering on the ground with a disgusting sound. 

“These things are...unnatural,” Byleth murmured, scowling down at his gore-slick swords as they snapped back into place, the black one’s two Crest Stones flaring brightly. “Wait a minute.” He held the copied weapon up and examined the Crest Stones, then his gaze shifted to Edelgard. “Catch.” 

“What?’ Edelgard’s reflexes saved her from catching the black sword with her face as her fingers snatched the weapon from the air, her Crest warming within her blood as its Flames Crest Stone burned brightly. 

“As I thought,” Byleth grinned as the weapon flared to life at Edelgard’s touch. “Your Crest of Flames lets you use that one, since it has the Crest Stone in it.” 

Funnels of ash hit the ground in a spiraling tornado further down the rubble-lined and flame wreathed street, materializing into Lamine and Gloucester. Another hit out of sight on the other side of a building, a red arrow and bolts of flame streaking after more of the flying beasts. 

“Let’s go: we need to find Rhea before the damage becomes far too great,” Byleth said. 

“Right,” Edelgard nodded and rushed at his side as they ran through the crumbling buildings and burning streets in pursuit of the source of the corruption she could feel in the city. 

People were lying in heaps all around them, those who were still alive screaming and wailing as their world crumbled into flames and ash at the crazed talons of the Archbishop they’d been so devoted to. 

Sometimes, she’d see another Elite moving through the chaos, their weapons pulsing brightly as they cut down more of the misshapen draconic beasts before vanishing into the smoke again. A few beasts would dive on her and Byleth as they ran, but a quick slash from one of their blades would carve it from the sky easily enough. 

“Byleth,” Edelgard forced out through burning lungs as she tried not to choke on the thick, acrid smoke. “How do I extend the sword?” 

“Flick your arm like it’s a whip, then guide it with your wrist,” Byleth demonstrated by sending his Stone-less Relic’s blade streaking skywards, carving a scarlet gash through three beasts one after the other. “Try to keep it steady when it hits.” 

Edelgard spotted another white form, easy to pick out against the thick, swirling black and the dancing tongues of flame, and snapped her arm forward, tremors rattling up her bones as the black Sword of the Creator extended with a hiss. Her clumsy attempt made her whip-like blade miss by several feet, gouging through a building and sending rock dust spraying in every direction. 

“Damn it,” she snarled, her arm shaking again as the blade snapped back together, her eyes watching as the monster swooped down towards her, screeching. 

The cold corruption gripped her heart and turned her veins to ice, and she could almost feel the air, itself freeze from the sheer _ wrong _ of what was coming. 

“NEMESIS! I HAVE FOUND YOU!” the warped, distorted scream radiated a sickening joy as the smaller beast was slammed to the ground beneath a massive white leg thicker than a tree. 

Edelgard looked up to see the fang-filled cavern of the Immaculate One dripping blood and offal as the monster smiled down at them. 

“Seiros,” Byleth said next to her, his strong arm wrapping protectively around Edelgard’s shoulders. “What the hell did they do to you?” 

Patches of what had once been pearly white scales had been stripped away from the dragon’s body in several places, replaced with black metal that glowed with unnatural energy while the pale flesh around them was inflamed and leaking green blood. Some sort of black rods were jutting out of her skull, crackling with electricity as eyes replaced by glowing red lenses stared down at the beast’s prey. The webbing of her wings had been completely stripped away, replaced by black spines and glowing orbs that held together the silvery mesh replacing it. Even her tail hadn’t escaped this bastardization: three whip-like blades had been attached to the serpentine limb, while other glowing cores pulsed with power from where they violated inflamed flesh and green-streaked scales. 

Her chest bore the worst part: it was almost completely ripped away and replaced with a clear device of sorts that showed the strange machinery that those filthy Agarthans had woven into her bones and stuffed into the cavity, crackling and pulsing with their unnatural technologies. The beast’s heart was a glowing red core in the center of those twisting false guts, shimmering with light. 

“This is...horrifying,” Edelgard’s throat was dry as she looked over the ravaged beast. 

The Immaculate One opened her cavern of sword-like fangs and roared, the sheer power of her voice threatening to crush Edelgard’s skull and burst her eardrums. The hot stench of death and decay made her nose shrivel up, and Edelgard fought the urge to reach up and make sure it hadn’t died and peeled itself off her face. 

“DIE!” the monster screamed, hurling its massive body forward and shaking the earth. 

Her tail swiped through someone’s home with a loud crash, sending stone bricks and shattered wood cracking to the ground. 

“Move!” Byleth yelled, releasing Edelgard and sending his Relic streaking out. 

Edelgard scrambled to the side to avoid the titanic monster’s gaping maw as death clamped shut mere feet away from her with an ear-shaking clack. She whirled and saw Byleth’s extended sword rake across the Immaculate One’s flank, gouging the ravaged body and spraying green blood in its wake. 

The beast shrieked in agony and tried to shove its titanic body to turn in the cramped streets, crashing through more buildings and screaming its frustration as Byleth deftly avoided it. 

Edelgard snapped her own blade forward, its warmth battling the icy corruption emanating from the Immaculate One. Surely even she could hit something as massive as that! Her arm jarred as the black and crimson blade slashed into white hide, sending sparks flying as it raked across one of the Agarthan plates. 

“Nice one!” Byleth’s voice was barely audible over the beast’s screaming and the crumbling buildings as stone and wood collapsed beneath the dragon’s sheer power. 

Edelgard’s heart warmed from the praise, and she could almost imagine for a moment that they were back at the Officer’s Academy, with him complimenting her work on an assignment. Part of her missed those days, if only because of all the time she’d spent with Byleth in the gardens for tea parties or when they’d had one-on-one tutoring sessions. 

The Immaculate One opened its mouth and sent a beam of pure heat into the city again, blasting buildings into rubble as easily as a mage could incinerate a bush. 

“NEMESIS!” that screaming voice was perpetually shaking what was left of Fhirdiad to its very core, and Edelgard wondered if the Agarthans had purposely increased the volume to make everyone subjected to it want to claw their ears off. 

“You’re giving me a headache,” Byleth groaned after Edelgad’s ears stopped ringing. “Shut up, already!” 

She fought down a laugh: this was a battlefield, for goodness’s sake! 

The rods on the creature’s head began to shimmer and crackle, a high-pitched whine filling the air right as those rods discharged a blinding bolt of electricity. Edelgard dove to avoid being fried, the boom of the impact behind her pounding her ears as a shockwave battered her against the earth. She groaned and pushed herself up, leaning on her Relic as she shook her head to clear her vision. 

Byleth raked another green line across the dragon’s leg, then sprinted to avoid the wicked talons that gouged through the street and sent cobblestone flying in every direction. Edelgard winced as she felt shrapnel sting her cheek, followed by the wet warmth of blood. 

The Immaculate One trampled through another building, making Byleth scramble in order to keep himself from being crushed by the rubble, and Edelgard lashed out with her copied Relic to get the beast’s attention off of her beloved. 

She gouged the beast’s side, but it ignored her and lashed its tail at Byleth. The whip-like blades lashed to the appendage slammed into the street and ripped up even more of the already shredded cobblestone. 

They weren’t going to last much longer, even if the tight corridors kept the enormous dragon at a disadvantage. All it had to do was move one of its tree-sized legs or even its tail at just the right moment, and one of them would be crushed beneath its insurmountable weight. 

“We have to end this now!” Byleth shouted, ducking beneath another white-hot blast of energy that ionized the very air, itself before turning a crumbling tower into a pile of melted slag. 

“Agreed!” Edelgard called, then choked as the fine particles of rock dust and ash went into her throat. 

She coughed the offending substance out in a wet hack of phlegm, glancing up at the beast towering over her and Byleth as it snarled again. Its maw opened wide, pure heat condensing betwixt its jaws as it took aim at the man it believed was its ancient enemy. 

A bolt of lightning descended from the smoke-filled skies, the Immaculate One screaming in agony as white-hot light crashed down upon its head. The beast stumbled back a few paces as the fractured remains of the rods on its head spewed smoke into the sky. 

“Took you long enough!” Byleth called out, but his tone was light and teasing. 

Several of the Elites descended on their old enemy, their glowing weapons ripping into the Immaculate One’s ravaged flesh and spraying her green blood across the nearby buildings. The beast shrieked and lashed out wildly with everything it had, but the small figures danced handily out of range. 

Lamine and Gloucester blasted its chest, making it roar and lift its head just in time for Dominic to slam Crusher down upon it with enough force for Edelgard to hear the crack of bone from where she stood. The Immaculate One shrieked and snapped up at the mounted Elite circling around its head, Dominic’s wyvern screaming as white fangs closed around its torso and ripped it from the sky. 

The Elite plummeted from the sky and crashed a hole into a nearby building, but the others weren’t deterred as they pressed their attack. Spells exploded all over the massive dragon’s body and glowing red weapons drank deep of the green lifeblood feeding the beast. 

Edelgard’s left leg ached as she limped over to where Byleth was watching the debacle, his face streaked with ash and blood as his green eyes smoldered with golden flames. “What do you want to do?” 

An unfamiliar Elite emerged from the ruins, brandishing a glowing black saber that Edelgard had never seen before. This unnamed Elite dove towards the Immaculate One’s bladed tail as the beast fired off another hot beam of energy at the enemies swarming around it, then swung his black weapon at the appendage. It bit deep into her scaled flesh, drawing another ear-shattering scream from the beast that drove nails through Edelgard’s skull. 

“Maurice! He made it!” Byleth laughed at her side, and she nodded to herself. 

So, that was the Forgotten Hero. 

A red arrow streaked into the dragon’s mouth, making it spit up green blood before roaring again. Another swarm of the lesser dragon beasts descended from the sky, but they were met with the fury of the Elites as even more of them galloped, flew, or ran into the fray, spells and Relics blazing. 

Fraldarius jammed her lance into one of the glowing red eyes, making it gutter out while her shield ensconced her within a red sphere of power. Riegan was dancing among the rubble, his Failnaught filling the streets with its lethal song as shaft after shaft flew from its frame. Daphnel and Gautier had dismounted and were jabbing their lances at the beast, ducking beneath talons huge enough to cut them in half as Goneril jumped on the Immaculate One’s back from a nearby building and began hacking into the beast with Freikugel. 

The dragon bucked and roared, blasting another stream of power through the thoroughly demolished buildings while trying to fillet the Elites scrabbling about the blasted street around it. Gloucester took a blow from the serpentine tail and slammed into a pile of rubble, his black Thyrsus falling from his hand as he slumped to the ground. Blaiddyd rode in on his demonic steed and slammed Areadbhar against the clear apparatus in the dragon’s ravaged chest. The apparatus cracked, and a second blow from the Elite’s inhuman strength shattered it with a loud crash. 

The dragon shrieked and swiped a massive talon at the Elite, shredding black armor and dropping Blaiddyd to the ground in two pieces. The Elite’s bisected body almost immediately dissolved into ash, his mount and copied Relic doing the same. 

“Byleth?!” Edelgard looked at her beloved, surprised to see him staring at her as well. 

His lips curved into their trademark smile that turned her heart into mush. “Together?” 

“Together,” she nodded, turning her gaze back to the dragon. 

The Immaculate One reared back and clamped its jaws around Goneril, who responded by slamming his axe into her snout several times, and then a sickening crack made him go slack before dissolving like Blaiddyd had. 

Byleth and Edelgard ran forward almost in unison, Edelgard’s pulse pounding her head as she watched Daphnel get impaled on the Immaculate One’s tail and thrown at Gautier, the former disintegrating after bowling the latter over. Gautier leaped back up and jabbed his lance into the dragon’s exposed leg, then dove to avoid being crushed beneath said leg. 

Riegan’s red arrows sprouted from the dragon’s neck, making it shriek in agony before swinging its heavy, bleeding head towards the Elite. Riegan lifted a hand to an empty quiver, then stood and lifted his bow in salute to Byleth as the Immaculate One’s bleeding maw opened wide before engulfing the Elite in a beam of energy. 

Edelgard ran as quickly as she could at Byleth’s side, her lungs burning as she gulped down air. The Immaculate One turned to them, roaring as it lifted its head to fire on them. Magic pulsed from the side, and a massive arrow of light slammed into the exposed core that had been shattered by Blaiddyd. 

The dragon screamed, its agony shaking the world as it thrashed its massive body and flailed out with its claws. 

“Lamine’s going to lift us up!” Byleth grabbed Edelgard’s left hand, filling her with warmth and power. 

Wind magic gathered at her feet lifted her into the air pushing her right towards the wailing dragon as its head flailed. It was moving too much, and Edelgard prepared herself to sink her blade into any vulnerable part of the beast she could. 

A dark shape slammed into the Immaculate One’s head, ramming his black saber into its remaining eye. It thrashed and threw him off, but Maurice clung stubbornly to the blade and dangled off of the side, his weight making the head hang lopsided but keeping it still. 

Edelgard swung as hard as she could while Byleth did the same, both of their swords slashing deep into the Immaculate One’s skull. The resulting scream nearly shattered Edelgard’s ears, and she plummeted backwards with Byleth as they were thrown from their enemy’s head. 

Her body jarred as it hit the blasted ground, but she never once relinquished her grip on Byleth’s hand as she looked up to see the Immaculate One rear back as a waterfall of green gushed from the X-shaped gash in its skull. 

With a low, agonized groan, the monster toppled into a nearby building and lay still, gore leaking from the blasted out remains of its ravaged chest. The nearby small dragons plummeted from the sky, their misshapen bodies cracking against stone. 

Edelgard’s breath caught in her throat, anxiety and disbelief raging through her head as she waited for the Immaculate One to get back up. 

“We did it,” she dared to whisper, her voice almost too loud in the eerie silence punctuated by crackling flames and distant cries from Fhirdiad’s survivors. “Byleth, we did it!” 

Her heart swelled as she turned to face her beloved, all of her joy stalling at the unusual expression he was wearing. 

“El, something is-” his glowing Relic dimmed and he crumpled to the ground, Edelgard’s heart leaping into her throat as she knelt beside him, grabbed him and pulled him against her body. 

“Byleth?! Byleth?! What’s wrong?!” she shook him, but he didn’t respond as her own Relic clattered against stone. “Byleth?!” 

No. No no no no no! This wasn’t happening! Not after they’d finally won! 

Edelgard lowered her head to his chest, straining to hear the rhythm of his lungs as listening for a heartbeat would be pointless. 

Silence. 

Her heart sagged, cold grief simmering into her head as she lifted her head to stare down at the only man she’d ever loved. Gone. How the hell was he gone? 

“Byleth...” she croaked, wet heat blurring the world. “Damn it all!” 

She’d lost so much! So many people! Why him?! Why did he have to pay the price for what she’d done?! Hadn’t she lost enough?! 

Edelgard let her control crumble as she buried her face into Byleth’s still chest, letting her sobs wrack both of them as her heart caved in. She let out everything that she’d been holding back for years, everything that she’d shoved into the deepest, darkest corners of her soul in order to keep them from spilling out. 

_ Thump _

She froze, her sob dying in her throat. 

_ Thump _

Edelgard turned her head and pressed her ear to Byleth’s chest. 

_ Thump _ _ thump _ _ thump _

Her fear shriveled up in her chest, replaced by sheer joy as the rhythm of Byleth’s beating heart filled her ears. She buried her face into his neck, tears of joy streaming down her face and soaking into his skin as she fought to steady her breathing. 

The green hair she could see faded into the dark blue that Byleth had before joining with Sothis, and Edelgard pulled back to gaze into the dark depths of his eyes. 

“Byleth!” his name was the only thing she could force from her lips. 

“El,” he murmured, one of his hands lifting up to come to rest against her cheek. “I couldn’t leave you just yet. We still have a future ahead to figure out, don’t we?” 

“Yes,” she sobbed, leaning down to kiss him. “Yes, my love.” 

It was clumsy and he tasted like ash, but she didn’t care. 

When she pulled back, she could feel eyes watching her and she looked up to find the source. Lamine, Gloucester, Maurice, Gautier, and Fraldarius were striding up to the duo, the only Elites to survive the Immaculate One’s rage. 

The ancient undead lifted their hands in salute one last time, and then they crumbled into ash, leaving behind little evidence that they had ever existed. 

“At least they spent their last moments saving their old home,” Byleth grunted as he sat up, Edelgard grabbing his hands and pulling him up to his feet. “El, I have a couple things to give you.” 

He fumbled for his burned satchel, rummaging through it before pulling out a dirty handkerchief and holding it out to her. 

She accepted the weight and found herself staring down at a beautiful locket with the twin-headed eagle staring back at her. Byleth pulled another object from his pocket, this one a small ring lined with blue and green stones. 

Her breath caught in her throat. “Byleth?!” 

His grin almost made her melt right then and there. “I know this is a horrible place to ask, but I don’t want to wait anymore. Will you marry me, Edelgard?” 

“Of course I will!” she grabbed him and kissed him as fiercely as she could muster, wondering how her heart wasn’t erupting from the joy this wonderful man gave her. 

“Let’s go then, to wherever the future takes us,” he said after they finally broke apart, his dark eyes gleaming. “Together.” 

“Together,” Edelgard agreed, those words absolutely wonderful coming from her lips. 

Their hands clasped together, she and her fiancé left the last vestiges of their old life behind, striding through the ruined streets to whatever future awaited at the end of this long and terrible road. 


	29. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's stuck by for the entirety of this story! I really appreciate all of you taking the time to read and leave your thoughts on my own little train wreck. You're all awesome people!

** Three Years After ** ** The ** ** Unification of ** ** Fodlan. **

** A fishing village in the southeastern edges of Almyra **

It was another cool autumn day, and Byleth reached up to feel the stubble dotting his face as he lazily reeled in his fishing rod, watching the line trail ripples across the river’s surface. There was a tug, and Byleth waited before yanking, his quarry jerking back on the line as the hook sank into its mouth. He pulled his catch from the river, scales and water catching sunlight, then grabbed its spiny body as it writhed on the hook. 

Another Almyran Spiny Trout, brassy in color with long spines that many fishermen had stuck themselves on. They were common and quite a delicacy, proving itself a staple in the village’s diet and trade. Byleth unhooked the creature and tossed it in the basket with the others. 

“Hey, Leth! Leave some trout for the rest of us, you bastard!” one of the dockworkers shouted, followed by a hoot of laughter from the other fishermen on the piers. “We can’t go home to our wives if you’re upstaging us all the time!” 

“His wife is better looking than yours, Griff!” another man called. 

“Even the men are better looking than his wife!” came a bellow from the far side of the docks. 

The small harbor erupted in laughter, and even Byleth found himself smiling at the good-natured japery. It had taken almost a year since their arrival at the village to get the rough-hewn Almyrans to fully accept them, but after Byleth and Edelgard had helped defend the village from a rival tribe’s raid, they were quickly welcomed into the fold. 

He hadn’t been too sure about staying here, but the Almyrans were a rough but earnest people. It took him one fishing trip reeling in enough to feed the village for two weeks for them to insist that he and Edelgard stay. 

Of course, the former Emperor’s proficiency with an axe and Byleth’s own martial skills didn’t hurt their decision. 

“Leth, I think that’s enough!” the brawny, leather-skinned man who oversaw the fish collection ordered. “You’ve pulled more than everyone combined! You’re done for today!” 

Byleth inserted his fishing rod into a barrel with the others and looked at the man in question. “Any movement from that bear the others have been tracking, do you know?” 

“Not really, but I did hear a strange rumor,” he shook his head, thick lips curving into an imitation of the crescent scar looping around his chin. “Apparently, the new King Khalid is visiting villages in the area, seeing how everyone’s doing and so on, I guess. He’ll be stopping here by the day’s end, or so the talking goes.” 

King Khalid, huh? So long as Almyra’s mysterious new despot didn’t have a problem with Byleth or Edelgard, Byleth could care less about the visit. 

“Good hunting, Yurith!” he walked down the docks, his boots making the rough-hewn boards creak. 

Some men and women were cleaning and gutting the day’s catch so far while a young boy with braided hair grabbed Byleth’s laden basket and lugged it towards the blood and scale-covered tables. He moved through the bustling crowd, returning greetings from villagers as voices called out to him. 

He’d been concerned at first that these people were going to be much more biased against him and Edelgard due to them being outlanders, but they surprised him with how readily they’d pulled the duo into their fold once they’d gotten past their suspicion. Simple people who respected strength and hard work, all of them. Byleth quite liked them. 

He moved through the dusty streets, shivering as a cool wind breezed in, rustling sheets and canvases from the rounded wooden huts and tents filling the village. It was so different from Fodlan, but the people had simple needs just like the ones in Fodlan had. Sure, the Almyrans liked fighting a lot more than the Fodlanders had, but they were people Byleth got along well with. 

“Hey, Leth! I got some baubles here your wife might enjoy!” one of the merchants called out, waving a hand over his wares. “Raiders just brought a bunch back from some caravan!” 

Byleth shook his head. “Don’t think I could afford your prices, Yusef, but thanks.” 

The bearded merchant laughed, running a hand through his bushy facial hair. “Your Elis is better at haggling than you are, my friend! Maybe send her my way, eh?” 

“I’d rather not,” Byleth drawled, allowing the corner of his lips to curve upwards. “I don’t want her to kill the village’s most successful vulture.” 

Yusef cackled heartily, slapping his knees before shaking his head. “You don’t give me enough credit, my friend! Whatever the raiders leave behind, I profit from!” 

“Good luck to you,” Byleth shook his head and walked away. 

It had taken quite a bit of time for him and Edelgard to get used to their false names, despite them being similar to their actual names. He’d gone by Lif at first, hoping that it’s northern-sounding origins would keep the attention focused away from Fodlan, but somehow along the way the name had been mispronounced into Leth. He’d suggested to Edelgard that she should just go by El, but she was adamant that he be the only one to call her that name, so they’d settled on Elis. 

Byleth’s steps took him out of the main village and off the beaten path, leading a bit further into the forest. Birds were chirping and flitting through the beams of sunlight, trying to enjoy what warmth they could from the autumn sun. 

Before long, the thick brush gave way to a clearing, in which a simple cabin was nestled. Byleth’s heart warmed in his chest, its beating increasing as he strode towards the current home he now shared with the love of his life. 

He could hear her inside, moving around and talking to herself as he approached the front door. 

“Come on, I can’t be that inept,” she was muttering, which was immediately followed with a harsh clang and a yelp. “Oh, damn it all! I can’t rely on Byleth to be the only one capable of cooking for us forever!” 

Byleth pushed open the door and strode in, immediately being greeted with Edelgard’s startled cry as the woman spun from where she was standing in front of their wood-fed oven. Soot was streaked across her face, and her long hair still had bits of bark tangled in some of the strands. Her rough-looking logger’s tunic was the color of bark, with some loose threads dangling from her baggy trousers and the well-worn gloves she’d left discarded on the table. 

“Ah! Oh, my dearest!” she spluttered, her pale cheeks coloring as she moved her hand away from the axe hanging on the wall. “You weren’t supposed to be back yet!” 

Byleth’s heart soared in his chest as he strode over to Edelgard, wrapping his arms around her and holding her warm body to his own. “I filled my quota pretty quickly, El. Weren’t you supposed to be helping clear out that tangle near the river for more lumber?” 

She sighed and nuzzled his neck, wrapping her own arms around him. “The crew was attacked by a giant wolf. I killed the beast before anyone got hurt, but the Ra’an wanted everyone to go home while he surveyed the area for a den.” 

“Good work as always, darling,” Byleth leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “Now, what are you trying to make here?” 

He peered at the pot and found a gray substance bubbling inside of it, with chunks of meat floating on its surface. 

“It’s...supposed to be stew. I, uh, don’t think it’s supposed to look like that,” his wife mumbled, her breath hot on his neck as her hair brushed against his skin. 

“I love you, El,” Byleth murmured into the top of her head. 

“I will never tire of hearing those words from your lips, my darling,” Edelgard sighed. “And I love you too.” 

Byleth rubbed small circles into her back with his hands, her content sigh followed by her practically melting into him. 

“Apparently, King Khalid is supposed to visit the village today,” he said after a few comfortable minutes of silence, and Edelgard stiffened in his arms. 

“The new monarch? Why is he coming here?” she pulled back, concern in her lilac eyes. “Do you think he’s looking for us?” 

Byleth shook his head, casting off the remnants of the fear and uncertainty that had followed them these past three years as they’d traveled through Sreng and then the outer reaches of Fodlan to get into Almyra. Edelgard, for all intents and purposes, was dead to Fodlan, but one unfortunate moment was all it would take for someone to realize that she was alive and spark a nation-wide manhunt for the former Emperor. 

There had been many tense moments when Byleth had been ready to cut his way through some Kingdom checkpoints, but luckily he hadn’t had to kill anyone just for doing their jobs. 

“I don’t think so,” he answered Edelgard. “He’s supposedly visiting towns and villages in the area as a routine of sorts. I doubt this king will even know who we are.” 

Edelgard relaxed, then eased back into his arms. “I hope not. I like this place.” 

“The fishing is nice,” Byleth nodded, earning a huff of laughter from his wife. 

“How long will it be before this king shows up?” Edelgard asked. “It’s after noon.” 

“Sometime before the day’s end, I heard,” Byleth answered. 

“So, anytime at all. Keeps everyone on their toes but doesn’t provide a specified time frame for an attempted assassination to be put in place. He seems smart,” the former Emperor mused. 

Byleth leaned over and kissed the top of her head again. “I don’t really care how he is so long as he doesn’t have a problem with us being here.” 

“Agreed,” she murmured into his shirt, her fingers tightening their hold on the rough fabric. 

Byleth looked over at the dubious substance bubbling in the pot, his eyebrow raising as said substance began to burp gouts of steam. “El, I think the pot’s about to explode.” 

She pulled away, donned their heavy heat-retardant mitts, then grabbed the pot and pulled it off the flame before its contents could erupt and splatter across the cabin’s interior. “Open the window, please!” 

Byleth moved over to the closest window and pushed, making it swing outwards on hinges treated to squeak in case someone tried to open it. Edelgard stumbled over, making the concoction slosh over the sides and spill across the floor, then catapulted the substance through the window. 

A blast of hot air and the unholy stench of the substance washed over Byleth, but it was quickly chased away by a blessedly chilled breeze from outside, followed by pine scent and birdsong. 

“Oh, gods, I warped the pan,” Edelgard moaned in despair, lamenting over the new grooves and whorls that were now etched into the metal. “How did it end up like this?” 

Byleth squeezed her shoulder gently. “You’re not hurt, so that’s all that matters, love.” 

Her adoring gaze lifted, followed by an embarrassed but utterly captivating smile. “You remind me every day why I love you so much.” 

She let the warped pan clang against the wooden floor and stood on her toes to press her lips to his, her hands wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. Byleth relished her sweet, woodsy taste and kissed her deeper, earning an appreciative moan from the woman. 

She pushed him back, that familiar, heart-racing hunger smoldering in her eyes as she shook her head. “No, we need to make sure we have something to eat, first.” 

Byleth nodded. “I think we can still use the pan. I can try to make that stew you were attempting.” 

“I appreciate it, dear heart,” she kissed him again and retrieved the pan. “Let us hope I can learn how to do it properly by watching you.” 

“Right. Let’s get started.” 

Edelgard watched attentively as he set about using the warped pan to simmer another batch of stew, adding the unevenly cut chunks of carrots and onions that she’d set aside from her previous attempt. He took out a few spices and added them as well, their pungent scents almost making his eyes water with their combined assault on his nasal cavity. After they’d simmered appropriately, he dumped in the meat-some cuts from a bear, he thought-and stirred a bit to mix them up. 

“And now we wait,” he declared, the delicious aroma slowly filling the air. 

It was starting to get dark out, and Byleth froze as the wind carried voices along with it. 

“Dear?” Edelgard paused, her lips tightening into a narrow line as she heard the voices as well. “Are we expecting company?” 

Byleth reached out and grabbed his sword, the sleek steel blade gleaming from oil that he’d rubbed it down with earlier while its rough leather-wrapped hilt rubbed against his palm. “Not that I’m aware of.” 

“This is their home, sire,” Yusef’s gruff voice reached Byleth’s ears, and he felt the familiar fear and tension electrify his muscles. “The village owes these two more than we can ever repay, if I’m being honest. They’re good people and damn good fighters.” 

“The king?” Edelgard murmured. “Why did Yusef bring him here?” 

“I don’t know, but we should probably put our weapons away before opening the door,” Byleth set his sword on the table and strode over to the heavy strips of wood serving as the cabin’s entrance. 

“Leth! Elis! The king wants to see you!” the Almyran villager called as a fist rapped against the door. 

Edelgard’s hand lingered by the sheathe hidden in her trousers, where her dagger was poised to be thrown with just the flick of her wrist. 

Byleth eased the door open and found himself staring at a face he never thought he’d see again, that impish grin not even faltering as its owner lifted two fingers in greetings. 

“Hey, Teach! I didn’t think I’d run into you here, of all places!” Claude von Riegan, of all people, was standing before the cabin, dressed in an elaborate black and green outfit designed to look like dragonhide. 

“C-Claude?!” Edelgard choked from inside the cabin, and Claude waved daintily at her. 

“Ah, you’re here, too? This reunion just gets better and better!” he winked. “My real name is Khalid, by the way.” 

Byleth interposed himself between the Almyrans and his beloved, the mirth in Claude’s eyes fading as he no doubt realized that he was in the line of fire. 

“Take it easy, Teach: I’m not here to cause trouble. May I come in? Whatever you’re cooking in there smells divine!” 

“You know each other?” Yusef said, his rough face a picture of surprise. 

Claude-or Khalid or whatever name he went by-nodded to the man. “Leth, here, used to be my Professor when I was in Fodlan. Elis was one of my classmates. Go ahead, Yusef: I’ll probably be here awhile.” 

The use of the false names disarmed some of Byleth’s internal defenses, but he stayed close to Edelgard as he stepped back to let Claude in. The King of Almyra strode casually into the cabin, his eyes darting to the sword and axe in plain display before roaming over where Edelgard was still in her throwing stance. 

“This is pretty homey, huh?” Khalid mused, inhaling deeply to fill his nose with the delectable scent of their dinner. “What is that, stew?” 

“Why are you here?” Edelgard demanded, earning a sigh from the man. 

“Because I wanted to see who it was that was helping out my people so much,” Khalid answered, his green eyes lingering on Byleth. “Didn’t expect to find a dead woman and a man who became a ghost here. What happened to your hair and eyes?” 

Byleth shook his head, looking out the door to where Yusef was no doubt listening in. 

Khalid shrugged and swung it shut behind him. “He knows better than to eavesdrop with a hungry wyvern nearby. I’d bet he’s halfway back to the village by now.” 

As if on cue, a wyvern’s snarl resonated through the cabin, and Byleth fought down the urge to sigh. 

“Make yourself comfortable, Claude,” he nodded to the chairs. “As for my eyes and hair...what’s the story going around Fodlan about the Immaculate One’s death?” 

He’d heard it, of course, of the white corpses littering the ruins of Fhirdiad and the enormous, unnatural beast that lay in the center of the carnage. The Swords of the Creator were found nearby, dim and lifeless, but there was no sign of the man who’d wielded them. 

“You killed her and vanished, leaving your Relics behind,” Claude eased himself into the chair, making wood scrape together as he leaned back and balanced his seat on its back legs. “Did killing Rhea sever your connection to the Goddess? Is that why you look like you did before the Sealed Forest?” 

“Yes,” Byleth nodded, absently lifting a hand to his chest. “The Crest Stone is gone, and so is the power Sothis gave me. I am a mortal and nothing else, now.” 

Khalid chuckled. “Nothing else? I thought you were Elis’s little hubby, now.” 

The ring on Byleth’s finger felt heavier at that declaration, but he ignored it. “You know what I mean. How have things been in handling Almyra? I presume you left the Alliance to Lorenz?” 

Khalid nodded. “It has some challenges, sure, but I’m up to taking them on. And yes, I left the Alliance to dear old noble Lorenz. Can’t run two nations at once, especially with Dimitri badgering me about trying to make new traditional values for our territories. I thought I could control him, but that proved easier said than done.” 

“I guess you tried,” Byleth shrugged. “How has everyone been faring?” 

Khalid grinned. “They miss you, sure, but we’ve been adjusting well enough and making the best of Fodlan’s uncertain future. Queen Petra of Brigid is married to Dorothea, if you’re wondering, with little Bernie now famous for cataloguing many different species of plants from all over.” 

Edelgard laughed a bit to release her tension. “I’m glad they’re alright...And Dorothea must be delighted.” 

“Oh, they’re quite a happy couple,” Khalid nodded. “They’re a pleasure to work with, or were, before I left Fodlan behind for Almyra. I have plans to bring all of our nations closer together, but Almyra needs to be tamed a bit before we can really break down these borders.” 

Byleth nodded to himself. “Sounds like your ambitions are on their way to being fulfilled. I wish you the best.” 

He felt Edelgard’s hand close around his own, tight enough to make his fingers ache. 

Khalid looked back and forth between them, sighing as he shook his head. “Teach, Edelgard: you’re more than welcome to stay here. I’m not going to execute you or force you to leave or anything. I’ve got schemes and dreams, as always, but I’m leaving you out of them unless you really want to participate. You’ve given us a good start with tearing up this rotten foundation, but it’s up to us to make the best of what you’ve left behind.” 

Byleth nodded to the bubbling stew, feeling Edelgard’s grip relax. “Come on, why don’t we eat? I imagine we all have some interesting stories to share.” 

“You read my mind, Teach!” Khalid grinned. “It’ll be just like the old days back at the Academy.” 

Edelgard gave a less strained laugh this time, squeezing Byleth’s hand. “So long as you don’t have a stomach-upsetting poison on you.” 

“No promises,” Khalid winked. 

Byleth poured servings of stew into wooden bowls and handed them out, looking at the faces of his wife and old student as they eased into a casual conversation with one another, lowering their guards yet not entirely dropping them. 

He could easily imagine they were back at Garreg Mach, the faces of his students bright and filled with an innocence not yet ripped away by the horrors of war. He could hear their excited chatter, and he let his mind’s eye roam over the faces he knew he would never see again. 

And in the very back, he could swear he saw the grizzled form of an ancient king standing side-by-side with a young girl with long deep green hair. 

“Byleth? My love?” Edelgard’s voice filled the vision, and Byleth opened his eyes to look at her concerned face. 

“You two are just plain adorable,” Khalid drawled, shoveling another spoonful of stew into his mouth. 

Byleth chuckled and nodded. “Just remembering, that’s all.” 

Edelgard nodded and then turned her attention to Khalid. “And what about you? Does the great King of Almyra have any shortage of suitors clambering for your affections?” 

Khalid winked. “I don’t kiss and tell, Elis!” 

Byleth chuckled as they began firing off retorts back and forth, and he watched their banter in appreciative silence. All he had to do now was enjoy his life together with Edelgard, maybe even start a family with her. 

He wasn’t the King of Liberation or the Vessel of Sothis, not anymore. 

He was just Byleth, now. 


End file.
